


Trials of the Flesh

by Kenyastarflight



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Everyone lives, F/M, Possession, Post-Transformers: The Movie (1986), Transformers as Humans (Kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 104,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kenyastarflight/pseuds/Kenyastarflight
Summary: Fatally wounded by the Decepticons, Ratchet strikes a bargain with Primus to continue living... much to the consternation of both himself and a human game store clerk named Conrad.  Originally posted to FFN in 2013.
Relationships: Original Characters - Relationship
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know that "Transformers: The Movie" takes place in 2005, but I cheated and bumped the date of the Battle of Autobot City up to 2013 (the year I started writing this fic). Because I'm the author and I can do that. 
> 
> And yes, the concept of this fic shares similarities with "Juxtaposition," a rather famous Transformers fanfic by Vaeru. I came up with this idea independently of that fic, however, and have done my best to make this fic unique despite this.

_BOOM!_

_The shuttle bucked underneath the four Autobots, nearly throwing them out of their seats. The sound of the detonation overwhelmed their audial receptors, forcing them to shut down and reboot for protection. Deafened and unsteady, they grabbed onto consoles or the arms of their chairs to maintain their balance. Ratchet managed to remain in his seat only by virtue of Ironhide grabbing his arm and holding him into place._

_The Autobot medic shook his head, wishing there was a way he could speed up the reboot and regain his hearing faster. Slaggit, this was NOT the time for him to be down a sensory system, not when they had a blown engine to contend with! At least, he hoped it was a blown engine. He'd hate to think they just ran into a gang of pirates or some credit-hungry bounty hunter, or that someone had sabotaged their ship._

_His audials came online just in time to hear Brawn's startled shout. "Decepticons!"_

_Ratchet twisted around in his seat, alarm stabbing through him. It couldn't be... this shuttle had been launched in utmost secrecy, surely there was no way the Decepticons could have followed them..._

_His worst nightmares were realized when a terrifyingly familiar figure stepped through the gaping rift in the side of the shuttle - Megatron himself, flanked by Starscream and Soundwave, the Constructicons and the other Seekers crowding in behind him. The silver warlord wore a sinister grin on his faceplate, doubtless quite pleased with his choice of prey at the moment._

_"Decepticons!" he bellowed, "attack!" And with that, he transformed, landing neatly in gun mode in Starscream's hands._

_The attack seemed to happen in slow motion… and yet Ratchet was powerless to move, to pull a weapon or even flee to safety. He could only watch as bolts of energy punched through Brawn's armor, sending the minibot toppling over. Brawn's limbs spasmed as residual energy coursed through the lines, then went still._

_Prowl leaped from his seat, gun drawn, but before he could squeeze off a shot in return a blast tore through his upper chest. His mouth fell open as if to issue a dying scream, but an eerie whine and a fountain of smoke poured out instead. He, too, crumpled to the floor, the white of his paint already darkening to deathly gray as they watched._

_Ratchet's medical programming screamed at him to dash forward and try to save his felled comrades, but somehow he couldn't get his legs to work. This couldn't be happening… not so close to their goal… not when they had survived so much to come this far…_

_Several guns swung to aim at the medic, and too late he tried to run for cover._

_Shattering pain erupted in his chest, his torso, as bolts of plasma met their marks. His legs gave out beneath him, and he crumpled. A dull thud to his side marked where Ironhide, too, had been shot down. A few more blasts as some Decepticon or other pumped a few more shots into an Autobot chassis to ensure he was good and dead… then silence. The attack was over as quickly as it had begun._

_Ratchet's entire sensor network screamed in pain, but he forced himself to ignore it, to suppress the urge to sink into oblivion and escape. He knew he was in bad shape, and if he let himself black out now, he would never come online again. With great effort he forced himself to focus on his damage readout, trying to redirect as much energy as was safely possible to his self-repair systems. There was no way they would be able to mend this much damage, but at the very least they could keep him alive until a rescue was mounted…_

Who are you kidding? _some fatalistic voice in the back of his CPU pointed out._ There's not going to be a rescue. This isn't a kidnapping. Megatron's not going to hold you and the others for ransom. This is an ambush – and you're not going to get off this ship alive…

_He squelched that voice and forced all his energy to the task at hand. No… they'd come too far to give up now. There had to be a way… there was always a way…_

_His attention was drifting. He felt light-headed, as if a power line to his CPU had been cut. He couldn't seem to focus on the ever-lengthening scroll of his damage readout, and his processor couldn't make sense out of the array of glyphs and symbols. Terror lanced through his spark at that, and he struggled to stay alert, but it was useless. His hold on consciousness was slowly but steadily slipping away._

_The damage readout faded, to be replaced by… a light? Dim but steady, it seemed to beckon to him, to soothe him and encourage him to let go… to let the inevitable happen…_

No! _he raged, fighting to bring the readout back up._ This can't be happening! I refuse to join the Well of All Sparks! Not now! There's too much I need to do! The Autobots need me!

_The light pulsed once, slowly brightening. Something filled his spark and CPU at that moment – not exactly a voice, but more of a presence, a consciousness that communicated through pure thought and emotion. An overwhelming sense of acceptance filled Ratchet, a feeling that all beings must face their end at some point, and that to fight it was futile. There would be others to continue where the medic had left off, and after all he had accomplished and sacrificed, he deserved a final rest._

Fraggit, I can rest after the war is over! Please… I have to keep going! Optimus Prime needs me, the Autobots need me… I can't let this be the end. There's still so much we need to do…

_The emotions filling his spark shifted, regret coloring the presence in his CPU. What he requested was possible… but it would come at a price. Ratchet would be allowed to continue living, but he may not be happy with the results. In the end, he might wish he had gone on to join the Well instead…_

I don't care! _he railed, simply relieved to even have an option to continue living._ I'll do whatever it takes! Just don't take my spark!

_A burst of feeling… almost of amusement. Ratchet had no idea what he was asking… but his request would be granted. It would be… interesting… to see what he made of this situation._

I'm used to dealing with impossible situations, _Ratchet replied._ What about the others?

_Surprise. What about them?_

You can't spare me and let them die… you have to help them too!

_Confusion. Hesitation. The others had gone peacefully. Well, maybe not peacefully, but they had accepted their fates in the end. What right did Ratchet have to dictate whether or not they passed on to the Well of All Sparks?_

Please… don't let them go. Give them another chance.

_Resignation, tinged with frustration. If that was truly what Ratchet wanted, he would get it. But as this had been the medic's idea, it would also be his responsibility. Should the others not be happy with their rescue, it would be on the medic's head._

I'll take the blame. Do we have a deal?

_Thoughtfulness, then acquiescence. They had a deal._

_A bolt of pain shot through Ratchet's chassis, as if he had just grabbed a live power cable. His vision flickered once, then blacked out._

* * *

"Wake up!"

Conrad groaned, the shout forcibly dragging him out of a weird, rather hazy dream. Without bothering to extricate his head from under the covers, he slid a hand out from under the blankets, grabbed a pillow, and smashed it down over his ears to drown it out.

"Get up, Conner." The speaker was actually in his bedroom now, waiting at the door. "You're going to be late for work."

He half-spoke, half-groaned a few words that were muffled by the layers of cloth and down.

"I can't understand a word you're saying."

"I said lemmie call in sick!" he shouted.

"You've used up all your sick days."

"Then lemmie call in dead!"

"Conrad Lewis Hawkins, come ON!" And the speaker grabbed the covers and gave a swift yank.

Conrad flinched as the blankets whipped off the bed. He curled up and clamped the pillow tighter over his head, as if by hiding his head he could cover the rest of his body as well.

"Don't wanna go to work today," he groaned.

"Neither do I. But the bills don't pay themselves. Up and at 'em, Conner. I left some breakfast for you."

He finally pushed the pillow aside and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He knew he couldn't put off the inevitable – he was out of sick days thanks to a nasty flu-bug earlier this year, and he really couldn't afford to miss another day of work. That didn't mean he had to like it, especially given that he'd been up most of the night practicing with the band.

"And from now on band practice gets over at midnight sharp," the speaker went on, as if reading his mind. "No exceptions. I'll turn the power off on you if it happens again."

"C'mon, Mom…" he protested.

"Don't 'c'mon' me. The neighbors have threatened to call the police if it keeps up."

"Did you tell them we'll cut band practice off early if they shut their yappy dog up?"

His mom snorted, as if trying not to laugh. "Very cute. I'm off to work. I'll call if it's going to be another late night, okay?"

"All right. Don't kill anyone."

"And you don't piss anyone off." She ruffled his hair before walking out. Under normal circumstances he might have protested the overly motherly gesture, but first thing in the morning he was generally too groggy to care.

Once he was sure he was awake enough to be able to stand without falling over, he got up and headed for the bathroom. Maybe he did need to cut band practice off early next time, if it was going to leave him this fuzzy in the mornings. Still, Dragonglass didn't get a chance to practice often due to conflicting schedules, and late nights were often the best way to make the most of the nights they did have.

As he showered, he tried to recall whatever it was he'd dreamed about last night… or this morning, if one wanted to get technical. Something about robots… a couple of white ones and a red one and a big silver one… and a lot of shooting and smoke and screaming on top of it all. Weird, he hadn't seen anything science-fiction-y lately. Maybe this was his subconscious paying him back for staring at video games so much, though he couldn't remember any video games he'd sold in the last couple of weeks that featured fighting robots.

Ah well. Maybe he'd share it with Zack at work. He could try to help him interpret it, or at least get a laugh out of it.

He showered and shaved quickly, then headed back to his room to get dressed. Mom had already left, meaning it was just him and the dog now until he left for work. Ever since the divorce five years ago it had just been the three of them – "three against the world," Mom would say with a laugh. And while they got on each other's nerves sometimes, he didn't mind the living arrangement all that much. It might have embarrassed him a few years ago, but thanks to the recession a twenty-one-year-old still living with his parents wasn't nearly as weird as it used to be. At least, that was his experience.

Not that he hadn't had a few opportunities come up to move out. Zack and Fielding had both offered him a place to crash at their places, and he'd even spent the night a couple of times at one place or the other. And Angela kept hinting that maybe they should get serious about their relationship and move in together. But in the end, he'd opted to stay home.

His decision wasn't because he was sure his band-mates would drive him nuts if they lived together, though there was that too. Nor was he commitment-shy… he didn't think, anyhow. But in a lot of ways he felt bad about abandoning his mom. They'd been through a lot over the years, and he hated the thought of leaving her alone. Zack had teased him about being a mama's boy for that, but it usually only took a few good swats up the back of the head for him to quit.

He took a moment to inspect himself in the mirror before heading out. Black work pants, green polo with silver nametag, and a green baseball cap that had been decorated to look like a duck's head. Dorky, he knew, but since when were work uniforms the epitome of high fashion?

"Okay, I'm off," he announced. "Be good, Gandalf."

The old Mastiff-Malamute mix looked up from the couch, thumped his tail once, then went back to sleep. Named for his mom's favorite character from her favorite book series, he was getting on in years and spent most of his time lounging around getting hair everywhere. Telling him to be good was like telling a rock to hold still – he just didn't have the energy to get into mischief anymore.

Mom had left a plate of toast, sausage, and eggs in the microwave for him, and he hurriedly slapped them together in a breakfast sandwich before heading out the door. He couldn't afford a car of his own, so he normally biked to work. And he'd gotten pretty adept at being able to ride a bike and eat at the same time. It enabled him to sleep in for just a few extra minutes in the morning.

The ride to Angry Duck Games took all of ten minutes, five if he was in an extreme hurry. A new-and-used video game store set in a strip mall in Provo, Utah, it was rather infamous for its mascot and namesake, a cranky one-winged duck that nested by the strip mall and frequently chased customers to and from their cars. Despite this nuisance – or perhaps because of it – it was one of the more popular video game stores in the area.

Conrad pulled up to the employee entrance behind the store and chained his bike to a pipe, then headed inside. Already he could hear Mr. Jakobson chewing out some employee or other over a screwed-up transaction, and with a slight roll of his eyes he went to clock in and take his place at the counter. Another lovely day in the neighborhood, it would seem.

* * *

"So I tell this lady that I'm sorry, I can't give her a refund, but she keeps giving me grief," Zack grumbled, not looking up from layering Cheese Whiz on his tuna sandwich. "I gave her our usual song and dance about how we can't give refunds on opened merchandise unless it's defective, but she's all threatening to call the manager on us. Like it's my fault she didn't read the damn package or do the damn research on the game. Sorry, Fielding."

"'Sokay," Fielding replied, chuckling.

Conrad made a sympathetic noise as he restocked a display of _Mists of Panderia_ boxes nearby. Technically employees were supposed to eat their lunches in the storage room in the back, but during dead times the rule pretty much went ignored. Since no one had stopped by for half an hour, Zack had judged it safe to eat at the cashier counter, and the other employees were hanging around to talk and kill time between customers.

"Isn't _Portal 2_ for Xbox and Playstation only?" asked Angela.

"Yeah, and PC," Fielding added. "Five minutes on Google'll tell you that."

"Some people don't like to Google," Conrad pointed out. "Or read the box, apparently. Or check the shelf – unless someone screwed up putting away stock or stuck the game back in the wrong area, _Portal_ shouldn't even be with the Wii games."

"I know, right?" Zack muttered. Satisfied with the amount of cheese on his sandwich, he set the can aside and closed the sandwich. "But yeah, she threatened to call Mr. Jakobson over it. I told her go for it."

Angela winced. "Aren't you afraid you'll get your pay docked for that?"

"Are you kidding?" Conrad laughed. "Mr. Jakobson doesn't put up with stupidity from anybody, and that includes customers as well as employees. He's a tough boss, but he's fair. And he doesn't blindly stick to 'customer is always right' either. He probably told the lady to do the damn research next time. Sorry, Fielding."

"You guys don't have to apologize every time you swear, you know," Fielding reminded.

"Well, we know you don't like to hear it, but it slips out sometimes," Conrad pointed out.

"Yeah, but still, I'm not going to bite your head off for it."

"Like your mouth would fit over his big head," Zack teased. "But yeah, she stormed off in a big huff. Howard got her back for me, though – chased her across the parking lot. You could hear her scream from the back of the store."

"Good duckie!" Angela laughed.

Conrad just grinned. The four employees who made up the main staff of Angry Duck Games, not to mention the members of the band Dragonglass, were an interesting crew – Conrad Hawkins and Zachary Bowen as day shift, and Fielding Pratt and Angela Zahradnicek as night shift, though the latter two occasionally popped in during the day to make small talk. But Conrad couldn't have asked for a better set of friends. Sure, their differences occasionally led to minor clashes, and he couldn't deny that they got on his nerves from time to time. But hey, no friendship was perfect.

Conrad had been fresh out of high school when he'd entered the game store three years ago, desperate for a job. Fielding, who had been manning the register at the time, had made sympathetic small talk with him but told him he couldn't promise anything, and Conrad had just picked up a job application and turned to go when Mr. Jakobsen had walked in. As far as he could recall, the rest of the conversation had gone something along the following lines:

"I'm here to apply for the day clerk position, sir-"

"Do you have a criminal record?"

"Uh… no?"

"Good, that saves me fifty bucks on a background check. Go clock in while I get your paperwork."

And from that point onward, Zack, Fielding, and Angela had simply treated him as if he were family. They had laughed and joked together, played video games together during slow times, and even formed the band when they had all discovered their mutual love for music as well as gaming, though Dragonglass got together to practice so infrequently that they only knew about two songs so far. Still, they were probably the only band based out of a video game store in all of Utah, so at least they could say they held one record.

Of his three co-workers, Zack probably fit the stereotypical "gamer" mold the best. While all four of them still lived with one or both of their parents, Zack seemed to take particular pride in being a basement-dwelling geek, much to the consternation of his lawyer dad. He was an endless source of quotes from weird and obscure movies, information on various new and classic video games, and other random tidbits. It had been his idea to name the duck that lived outside the store, and he had even forced the others to sit down and watch the movie that was Howard the Duck's namesake with him, a fact that Conrad still hadn't forgiven him for.

In contrast to Zack's strange ways, Fielding was almost normal. The oldest child of a rather large Mormon family, he had returned from a religious mission in Africa three years ago and was still unsure where he wanted to go with his life. By day he attended classes at nearby BYU, getting a business degree mostly to appease his parents, and by night he worked the game store and helped the others out with the band. He was a level-headed sort, rarely getting upset with the others even when they forgot themselves and slipped into swearing around him.

Angela, despite being the sole female of the group, fit in remarkably well with the guys. It helped that she shared many of their same interests – video games, fantasy and science fiction movies, random 80s trivia, and the like. Of the four of them, she was the most dedicated to getting the band off the ground and constantly pushed them to rearrange their schedules to squeeze in more practice hours. She even wrote songs in her spare time, and Conrad had to admit that she had a remarkable gift for music. Her dream was to build Dragonglass up to the point where they could release a full album, and maybe earn a spot as an opener band for a larger concert.

"So when's the next band practice?" asked Conrad. "I'm free Sunday."

"Uh-uh," Zack grunted through a mouthful of sandwich. He swallowed and clarified. "Fielding's unavailable Sundays, remember?"

"Can't you practice at night?" Conrad asked. "I mean, come on, it's not like you have church meetings at night."

"My parents would kill me if they found out," Fielding protested. "They already don't like me being in the band, and I don't want to push my luck too much. What about a day session sometime?"

"I have my second job every other day this week," Angela pointed out. "And my boss'll get suspicious if I call in sick again."

"Your boss?" Zack teased. "Don't you mean your dad?"

"Same thing," she retorted. Angela's parents owned a bookstore ten blocks away, and she was pretty much required to work a shift there if she wanted to continue living at home. They fully expected her to take over the store when they retired, too, but she was adamantly against the idea and wanted to focus on her music.

"Maybe we should skip practice this week," Fielding suggested. "It sounds like it's not going to work into our schedules."

"Come on, guys, we have to get serious about practicing," Angela insisted. "We're never going to get better if we don't practice. And I want us to be able to play more than the two songs."

"Let's just cover some Journey songs and call it a day," suggested Zack teasingly.

"No, Zack," Angela insisted.

"Hey, what's wrong with Journey?" Zack demanded. "Who doesn't love Journey? _Oh, just a small-town girl, living in a lonely world…"_

"Anyone doing anything Friday night?" asked Conrad, cutting Zack off before he could annoy Angela into hitting him. "We can maybe get together for an hour or two after the store closes."

"Sounds good to me," Zack replied.

"Don't you have DnD that night, though?" asked Fielding.

"Eh, the group can live without their Dragonkin Paladin for a day," Zack pointed out. "'Rad, we can still use your guys' garage, right?"

"Yeah, but we have to be done by midnight," Conrad replied. "Neighbors threatened to call the cops on us again."

"Sucks," Zack grumbled. "You've got touchy neighbors, I swear. The only time my neighbors called the cops on me is when I painted a 'Con symbol on the hood of my truck. Guess they didn't have a sense of humor."

"You didn't!" Angela gasped, eyes wide.

"Dude, that's like painting a swastika on your door," said Fielding. "It's a wonder they didn't call the military on you too!"

"Oh come on, it's just a symbol," Zack grumbled. "It's edgy, right? Our band's not gonna get attention if we don't push the boundaries a little."

"Don't go pinning your stupidity on the band," Angela snapped.

"Hey, we talk about using my truck to get to the gigs," Zack pointed out. "That makes it the band vehicle. And I don't get what all the fuss is about. Like real Decepticons would attack Provo – be a hell of a waste of time for them. Sorry, Fielding."

"I don't mind edgy, but I thought bands usually got piercings in weird places or wrote songs about the ghetto if they wanted to be edgy," Conrad pointed out. "They don't claim they're with al-Queda or put symbols for genocidal alien species on their tour buses."

"Provo doesn't have a ghetto, and nobody here has the guts to get a piercing," Zack replied. "So I'm workin' with what we got. And nobody's gonna mistake my POS truck for a 'Con, right?"

"Has anyone even seen a Decepticon in Provo?" Angela wondered. "Or an Autobot, for that matter."

"Not that I can remember," Fielding replied. "I haven't seen one, and I've lived here all my life."

"Saw an Autobot when I lived in New York, but that doesn't count," Zack put in.

"I MIGHT have seen one," Conrad volunteered.

"Might?" Angela repeated.

"Well, I don't know if it was or not," he confessed. "It was a car that looked a lot like that Jazz one. It didn't seem to have a driver, but I didn't get a good enough look to be sure. It was in a hurry, wherever it was going."

"Just be glad he didn't get a look at your truck while he was here," Angela told Zack, punching him lightly in the shoulder. "He might have taken a potshot at it and you'd be without a ride."

"Ow," Zack griped, though that punch couldn't have hurt that much. "And don't worry, no one's taking shots at my truck anymore. Dad flipped his lid and made me take the symbol off."

"Someone ELSE is going to flip more than his lid if you don't get back to work, Bowen!"

All four employees jumped and whirled as Mr. Jakobsen stormed into the store. Short and stocky, with a bushy gray mustache quite at odds with his shiny bald scalp and forearms covered in tattoos, the owner of Angry Duck Games looked and acted more like a diminutive drill sergeant than a video game store clerk. He didn't take kindly to his employees sitting around idle, even during slow times, and he wasn't above berating a clerk for mishandling a transaction or dropping and breaking an expensive game or console. At the same time, though, he didn't tolerate nonsense from customers and was quick to call them on their BS if they tried to wheedle their way past store policy or treat his employees like dirt. That alone made his temper worth tolerating.

"Hawkins, Bowen, back to work," Mr. Jakobsen snapped. "Pratt, Zee, I thought I told you to stop hanging around the store if you're not on the clock. I'm not paying you overtime."

"Sir, yes sir," Angela muttered, more annoyed by the nickname of "Zee" than by the order – Mr. Jakobsen had long ago given up trying to pronounce her last name and, instead of calling her "Angela," referred to her as Zee. She tolerated it from their boss, but was not above whapping any of the guys who tried calling her that.

"Let's get this place straightened up," Mr. Jakobsen went on, grabbing a roll of paper towels and tossing them Zack's way. "That includes wiping off the counter where you had lunch, Bowen – and don't give me that look, I'm not stupid. I know you have your lunches up front while I'm not watching – someone get the phone!"

"I got it," Conrad announced, grabbing for the receiver before it could hit the third ring, a heinous crime as far as Mr. Jakobsen was concerned. "Angry Duck Games, how can I help you?"

"Conner?"

"Oh, hi Mom. Can you call back? Mr. Jakobsen's on a roll today..."

"Conner, please, tell your boss to turn on a TV there," she cut in. The tone of her voice chilled him – she sounded as if she were holding back tears. "There's something on the news."

"Mom, are you okay?"

"I'm fine… just turn on the news."

"Okay… which channel?"

"Any."

His stomach jolted. Whatever this was, if it was on every news station…

"Mr. Jakobsen?"

"What?" the owner griped, turning to glare at him.

"I just got a call… they say to turn on the news. Something big's happening."

"What's big and happening?"

"I dunno, but it's on all the channels I guess."

"All the channels?" repeated Mr. Jakobsen. "Nothin's gonna hit every channel unless it's a terrorist attack or somethin'… aw, hell, no." He rushed to the big-screen TV where they normally let customers try out demos of new games.

"This isn't another 9/11, is it?" asked Fielding, going pale.

"We'll find out in a minute," Mr. Jakobsen replied, and stepped back as the screen brightened, revealing a scene that might have been just another video-game cut scene had it not also been emblazoned with the logo of a local news station. Mr. Jakobsen let out a low string of curse words, Angela gave a gasp that was nearly a shriek, and Fielding's face went even paler.

"Holy shit," breathed Zack. "Speaking of Autobots…"

Conrad opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Not quite 9/11… but surely bad enough. Autobot City, the stronghold of the beings who had been protecting their planet for so many years, was under attack.


	2. Chapter 2

Awareness returned slowly for Ratchet, as if he were swimming up from the blackest depths of the ocean. He felt disconnected, as if his very spark were free of his body and was floating through the emptiness of space itself. It was so tempting to just let himself drift, to simply immerse himself in the most basic sensation of all – that of merely being alive, of sheer existence – but he forced himself to fight for total consciousness. Instinct warned him that if he quit fighting, he would lose his fragile grip on life itself.

Alive… he was alive. As he slowly made his way to total awareness he could feel his memory returning. He was alive… and hopefully the others were too. There was only one way to find out for sure, though.

His vision was still dark, but he didn't worry about that too much at the moment. For now he simply worked on trying to bring his vital systems online. Once he was sure he wasn't going to deactivate at any moment, he would worry about his sensory systems.

Funny… he couldn't seem to access his damage readout. All efforts to bring it online were failing. That was frustrating, but if that was the worst of his problems he would take it for now. He could always do a physical assessment of his damages.

Before long, however, he realized he had a lot more to worry about than a glitchy readout. His internal systems felt all wrong – out of synch and erratic, the air intakes slower than normal, the fuel pump rate too fast. And everything felt weird… squishy, for lack of a better term, as if his internals were filled with mud. Had they crashed into the lake near Autobot City? That was the only reason he could think of that he could be feeling this way.

Finally he tried to bring his sensors online. The results were rather mixed – colors swam before him, and muddled voices filled his audials. His tactile sensors weren't working at all, and that disturbed him the most. Damaged optics or audials could be a result of damaged sensors, but a widespread tactile-sensor failure generally meant CPU damage…

"…are the Autobots gonna do about this?"

That voice, the first clear sound to reach his CPU, wasn't at all familiar. It was female, and sounded human rather than Cybertronian. Carly? No, too young…

"I dunno." That voice was closer, male, but still human and unfamiliar. "Think they'll call on the military for help?"

"Are you kidding?" a third voice demanded. "The military can't do shit about Decepticons – sorry, Pratt. Not without getting pasted."

"This is just like 9/11," a fourth voice murmured… and despite being softer in volume, it seemed to be coming from very close by… almost from his own body…

 _All right, what the frag is going on here?_ Ratchet thought irritably, and forced his vision to focus.

This wasn't the shuttle. This wasn't even Autobot City. He was surrounded by humans – two young men, a young woman, and an older bald man with a bushy mustache. All were staring at a television screen with varying expressions of horror and shock, completely ignoring the Autobot in their midst. And most weirdly of all, the four of them were his size or at least fairly close to it.

 _What in the…_ This didn't make sense. He'd never seen these humans before. His surroundings were completely unfamiliar – some sort of store, it looked like, though what it sold he couldn't tell at the moment. If Primus or the Allspark or whatever had allowed him to continue living had fulfilled its end of the bargain, why had it brought him to life in such a bizarre locale? Were the powers that be actively trying to make his life more difficult? Did Primus have Sideswipe's sense of humor or something?

His vision lurched, and he felt himself moving closer to the screen. With a jolt, he realized what he was looking at – Autobot City, under attack. Laser fire and missiles rained down on the city, punching holes in the buildings and felling mechs right and left. Even as he watched, a Seeker's missile caught Wheeljack in the chest. The scientist reeled back, dropping the cannon he had been holding, his optics bright with horror before going dark. It seemed to take an eternity for him to crumple to the ground, his armor dimming to gray, smoke and fluids pouring from his chest.

_NO!_

The terrible events on the screen continued to play out, oblivious to his cry of horror. More shots punched into Wheeljack's body, as if whoever had shot him down was determined to ensure he stayed dead. When the hail of laser fire finally ended Springer dashed out, grabbing the deactivated scientist and dragging him away. A human voice was rambling over the events, some sort of news announcer, but the words ceased to make sense to Ratchet as he grappled to comprehend what he had just seen. His best friend, his comrade, cut down by the Decepticons…

_No! No, this can't be happening! No!_

"Did you say something, Zack?" That was the closest voice again, the one that seemed to be coming from his own mouth.

"Huh?" A skinny young man with hair the color of cardboard and a bad case of post-adolescent acne turned to regard him. "No, why?"

"I thought I heard… no, never mind." His vision jostled as if he were shaking his head in a nugatory gesture. "Guess this is just getting to me is all."

"I shouldn't be so worried about this," a young woman with long red hair and glasses said softly. "I mean, it's not even our own race that's being affected, let alone our state. So why do I feel so… scared?"

"'Cause you're a decent human being is why," the older man noted, sounding as if he were trying to keep a gruff demeanor to mask his own emotions. "And 'cause it could very well be us next if they blow Autobot City up. They wipe out the Autobots, what's to stop them from moving in on Washington DC or the Pentagon?"

"Shit, it really is 9/11 all over again," the one called Zack muttered. "Sorry, Fielding."

Another young man with blond hair and dark-framed glasses waved him off. "It's fine. Mr. Jakobson… should we even keep the store open? I don't think we're going to get many people today."

The older man snorted. "We stay open. Whether or not people come in. This is a bad thing, but life goes on regardless." His expression softened slightly. "If you don't think you're able to keep working, though, go ahead and go home. I won't dock your pay."

No one seemed willing to take him up on the offer, however – they just continued to stare at the screen. Ratchet wanted to look away, to tear his gaze from the horrible events, but he couldn't seem to move his head… if it was even his head anymore. He couldn't control this body at all, couldn't even twitch a servo…

 _Muscle,_ he corrected himself. _Twitch a muscle._ The realization of where he'd ended up was finally sinking in – he was stuck in a human body. Not even his own human body, but someone else's. Another spark or soul or whatever humans had in place of it inhabited this body, and somehow he doubted this body's owner would be at all willing to give it up to him.

 _Primus!_ he raged. _You've got the sickest sense of humor, I swear!_

His vision rocked violently as his "host," for lack of a better term, shook his head. "Am I the only one hearing things?"

"I'm hearing the TV," Zack pointed out. "Why, you hearing something else?"

"No, just… just imagining things, I guess."

"Maybe you need to go home, 'Rad," the girl advised him. "Sounds like this is really getting to you."

"I'm fine," his host assured her. "Really. This is bad, yeah, but it's not like I've got family in Autobot City. I'll be okay."

"Go home, Hawkins," Mr. Jakobson barked. "Won't have you working here if you're not feeling sharp. I'll put you down as having worked a whole day."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. Don't think we're going to be too busy anyhow. Everyone's at home glued to their TVs right now, I'll bet."

"Thank you, sir." Ratchet felt his body turn, and a sudden warmth and pressure registered in his tactile sensors – no, nerves, he corrected himself – as the girl hugged his host.

"Be careful," she urged him. "Ride safe."

"I will, Angie," he promised.

Somehow, with great effort, Ratchet managed to black out his own vision, disconnecting himself from his host's eyes. Evidently that didn't affect the human's own sight, seeing as he hadn't suddenly crashed into anything. But it gave Ratchet a much-needed opportunity to think without distraction, and to come to terms with what had just happened… and more importantly, what to do about it.

He had absolutely no idea how this could have happened. There was no precedent for this kind of situation – when a mech's spark snuffed out, it was generally believed to be gone for good, or one with the Well of All Sparks if one believed in that. There had never been a reported case of a mech's body dying but their spark living on in another creature. Not before now, at any rate… though it seemed he wasn't exactly in a position to report this case.

If this was Primus' way of fulfilling his bargain with him, it was a sorry way to fill it as far as he was concerned. He'd wanted to continue living so he could contribute to the Autobot cause, not languish as a bundle of synapses in the brain of a human! Now he was trapped in a flesh carcass far from Autobot City, powerless to fight or repair or do anything to aid his comrades…

His comrades… Primus had vowed that the others would live on as well. But if so, did that mean they were stuck in this situation as well? Or was he the one that would suffer from trying to avoid fate, and the others would continue their lives while he was stuck as some kind of brain parasite?

The human cursed, and a flash of pain shot through their shared nerves as something nipped his ankle. Ratchet managed to connect himself back to the human's sight in time to see a mallard duck at his host's feet, flapping its single wing and making a weird rasping noise. Funny, he thought ducks quacked instead of rasping or growling… but what did he know, Hound was the big nature expert…

"Back off, Howard," his host ordered. "I got enough problems without you going psycho on me."

The duck rasped again and made to bite his foot, but the human danced out of the way. Grabbing at a bike chained to the side of the building, he moved to put it between himself and his feathered attacker while he fumbled with the chain.

 _If only I could get in touch with him,_ Ratchet thought. _Talk to him. At the very least, he deserves to know he has someone sharing mind space with him._

The human paused, and for a moment Ratchet wondered if he'd somehow made contact. But he just shook his head and went back to undoing the bike lock. Discouraged, he pulled himself away from the young man's sight so he could think. At least that was easier to do this time… and at least it gave him some sort of control over his current situation.

 _I'm trapped,_ he thought darkly. _Trapped in an organic body, and with no control over it… and it doesn't even seem like I can communicate with its owner. I don't even know how far I am from Autobot City, though judging by what these humans say it's nowhere close to here. And the Autobots are dying… Wheeljack's gone, and I don't know who else has already fallen… and there's nothing I can do about it._

He felt his host's body lurch into motion – he must have gotten his bike unchained and was setting off for home, wherever that was. At least someone here knew what to do next. He was completely adrift in more ways than one – without a body, without a plan, without any way to get out of this nightmare scenario and back to where he was needed the most.

 _I have no mouth, and I must scream._ It was a human turn of phrase, one that Wheeljack had picked up from one of those science fiction books he was always browsing in his spare time. Human phrase or not, Ratchet couldn't think of a more appropriate way to sum up his situation. He needed to do something, anything, to save the Autobot cause… and he was powerless to do more than watch as all they had fought so hard to build crumbled apart around him.

* * *

Conrad braked the bike just enough to coast to a stop in front of the house. Even from outside, he could hear Gandalf raising a racket, pawing at the front window and howling his joy at one of his "pack" coming home. Despite being old and lazy, he still went into near hysterics of ecstasy whenever he or Mom came home from work, as if he thought they'd left him forever.

"I'm coming in, ya big Wookie reject!" Conrad shouted, digging in his pocket for his house key. "Hold your shorts…"

Gandalf had no intention of holding anything – the moment Conrad got the door open he was pushing his way through, pawing at his owner's chest, licking every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

"Ugh! Get down! Sit! What have you been into, your breath reeks."

Gandalf gave him a final swipe of the tongue over his chin, the dropped back down to all fours and plodded into the living room, flopping onto the rug and settling in as if nothing had happened.

"Glad to see you too." Conrad sighed and hauled the bike into the house. The garage door was still stuck shut, so until they could get it fixed he had to get his bike in and out of the garage by taking it through the house. It was frustrating, but he supposed it beat having his bike stolen again.

Once his bike was squared away he changed out of his work clothes, then went to flop on the couch with a sigh. What a day. The Angry Duck crew had been watching the news for a few hours before he'd been sent home, unable to look away as newscasters reported on the battle at Autobot City. And part of him wanted to turn on the news now and keep getting updates, but another part of him recoiled at the thought, not wanting to take any more bad news today.

It wasn't as if he'd never known there was an alien war going on. Heck, the Autobots had been on Earth all his life, and reports of their misadventures and fights with the Decepticons popped up on the news all the time. But their war had become pretty much a fact of life by the time he was old enough to understand what was going on, and it remained an interesting but vague fact in the back of his mind for most of his life. Any mention of Decepticons popping up in New York City or launching some kind of electrical attack in Japan were just interesting enough to warrant a brief "Oh, cool" moment before his attention drifted off to something else.

But the Decepticons had never been this aggressive in their attacks before… and the fact that this attack was against not just an Autobot base, but a city that contained both Autobots and humans, made this all the more terrible. There were bound to be human fatalities in all this, and even if Conrad didn't have relatives there, he knew there would be people all over the country, possibly the world, whose lives would be affected by this. Didn't Fielding have a cousin or something that worked there? He could no longer remember…

Better not to think about it, he supposed. He pushed himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen. He'd fix himself a snack and then go find something to do so long as he was home. Maybe he'd try out that _Arkham Asylum_ game Zack had loaned him, or actually do something constructive like mow the lawn so Mom wouldn't be too upset with him being home from work early.

The latter was probably a smarter idea, though the former was definitely more appealing at the moment. It would certainly help take his mind off all this…

Something nagged at him, though. He couldn't seem to get his mind off the attack. It felt almost as if he some part of his mind was talking to itself, replaying what he'd seen on the screen. He shook his head and opened the fridge, pushing those thoughts away.

_Gone… can't believe he's gone…_

He frowned. Who was gone? Where had that thought come from? Never mind, he was hungry. He pulled out the lunchmeat and gave it a good sniff, trying to see if it was still good…

_I should have been there._

Should have been where? Well, technically he should be at work right now, but seeing as he had an unexpected half-day off he might as well enjoy it, right?

_Should have been there… I could have stopped it. Wheeljack… Prowl… Ironhide… Brawn… failed them all…_

Okay, this was getting ridiculous. He recognized a couple of those names – Prowl and Ironhide were among the more famous of the Autobots – but there was no reason for him to be thinking about them right now. The news certainly hadn't listed them among the fatalities… heck, it would probably be a few weeks before a casualty list was even made available to the public, so where were these names coming from?

_Primus, this wasn't part of our deal… I thought we had a deal…_

"Damn, I need therapy," he muttered, slamming the fridge shut. "All right, what's going on? Why the hell am I hearing voices?"

Silence. Conrad waited a moment, but when no other strange thoughts were forthcoming he finally shrugged and went to deposit his armload of sandwich-makings on the table. Maybe his blood sugar was just low. In all the sudden drama at work he'd forgotten to take his lunch break…

_You can hear me after all! Thank Primus, there's a bright spot to this mess after all!_

Conrad shrieked, and the food went flying in all directions as he jumped in shock. The pickle jar shattered on the floor, spraying a good portion of the kitchen and the nearby cupboards with green juice, and the lid popped off the mayonnaise and sent blobs of white goop splattering everywhere. He didn't even bother to try to pick up the mess, just stood there in shock, trying to control his breathing.

 _Well, you don't have to freak out over it._ The voice sounded annoyed now, but with a faint undertone of amusement.

"Who are you?!" Conrad shouted. "What the hell's going on here?! Why are you in my head?!"

 _Primus, calm down,_ the voice ordered. _You sound like Red Alert. I'm trying to establish some form of contact, not short your synapses._

"I'm hearing freaking voices and you're telling me to calm down?!" He scowled, realizing just how stupid he must look. "Why am I talking to a voice in my head?"

 _Because I'm not just a voice in your head!_ the voice snapped. _Calm down and listen, all right? You're not hallucinating, you're not having a breakdown, and I'm not a figment of your imagination. I'm real, even if you can't see me._

The voice wasn't any he was familiar with – gruff and gravelly, sounding a bit like Papa Smurf if he'd been smoking a couple packs a day for a few years. It wasn't any voice he'd imagined having stuck in his head. Then again, Conrad doubted many people stopped to think what the voices in their head would sound like if they had them… why was he thinking about this again? Shouldn't he be calling a doctor or something right now?

_So now that I've established what I'm not, would you sit down and listen while I explain what's going on?_

"If I start listening to and obeying a voice in my head, I'm going to end up in a psych ward," Conrad grumbled.

_Come on, at least give me the benefit of the doubt. I'm not here to hurt you. Slag, if it really bothers you to do what I say, don't sit down. But at least hear me out._

"Fine," he muttered, and he stooped to pick up the sandwich fixings. "But this had better be good." If the voice or hallucination or alien or whatever it was wanted to explain why it was there, who was he to stop it? At least his sudden bout of insanity was polite about it, it seemed.

 _My name is Ratchet,_ the voice explained. _I'm the Autobots' Chief Medical Officer._

"Wait, you're an Autobot?"

_Didn't I just get through saying that?_

"Right," Conrad muttered. "And I'm Justin Beiber."

_Har har. I'm serious, kid. I'm Optimus Prime's chief medic, the one in charge of keeping his troops patched up whenever they're stupid enough to get themselves shot, stabbed, blown up, or stepped on. It's a rough job, but it's a living, even if it's tempting to wring their necks instead of fix them at times._

Funny, his mom often said that about her patients at the doctor's office. "No offense, Mr. Ratchet… but I thought you'd be bigger. Being a giant robot and all."

A feeling of exasperation oozed from the voice, what Conrad guessed was the mental equivalent of a sigh. _I was shot. Decepticons ambushed our shuttle and gunned us down. I blacked out… and woke up inside your head._

"You… woke up… inside my head."

 _You have an excellent perception of the obvious,_ Ratchet muttered. _That's precisely what happened. Somehow, when my spark went out in my own body, it re-ignited in yours._

Conrad dumped his armload of food on the table and sat down, trying to process what the voice had just told him. He wasn't just hallucinating – he actually had someone stuck in his head. Not just an alien or a ghost, but a giant alien robot ghost of all things. Unless he really was going crazy, which was starting to sound like the more appealing option at this point… somehow he doubted a seventy-two hour lockdown and a Thorazine drip would get rid of a ghost in his head.

He chose that moment to remember that cheesy _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ film Zack had made him watch a few months back. "You're not going to kill me and hijack my body, are you?"

If Ratchet had a nose, he might have snorted at that. _What do you take me for, a parasite? Or one of Bombshell's mind-control implants? Even if I wanted your body – and trust me, I have no intention of taking it from you – I can't do squat in here. You still control all the motor functions and sensory systems. I can shut myself off from your senses, but that's it._

He couldn't help feeling a surge of relief at that. "How'd you get in there anyhow?"

_Frag if I know. This has never happened before. Not in our recorded history._

"Great," he groaned. "So you don't even know how to get out of there?"

_If I did, do you think I'd still be in here?_

Conrad swore and kicked a pickle across the kitchen. "So I'm stuck like this?! Talking to a freaking voice in my head for the rest of my life?"

_Do you think I like this any more than you do? Trust me, the last thing I want is to be here. I should be back at Autobot City, helping with the battle there, not stuck here trying to talk sense into a hysterical human!_

"I'm not hysterical!"

_Could have fooled me._

"Oh great, you're not only a voice in my head, you're a smartass. Wonderful." He got up and stalked toward the broom closet for a mop. "My mom's going to freak when she hears about this."

 _You make it sound like you're the only one not happy with this situation,_ Ratchet grumbled. _It's not like I chose this. Sure, I didn't want to deactivate, but if I was going to live through that attack, I wanted to be in my own body. Not mooching off of yours like a virus or Trojan horse._

Conrad finished the cleanup of the kitchen and stalked back into the living room. "So neither of us is happy about this. I think we've established that. What am I supposed to do about it?"

Ratchet seemed to ponder that for a moment. _For now? There's not a lot I can do on my own. I'll stay out of your way as best I can, but eventually I'd like your help for a few things._

"Is this the point where you ask me to sacrifice kittens or go stomp crop circles in a field?"

_You still don't believe I'm more than a figment of your imagination, do you?_

"Well, if you suddenly started hearing a voice claiming to be an alien ghost in your head, would you believe it was telling the truth?"

Ratchet had to think about that. _To be honest, I'd probably subject myself to a virus scan first thing. You're right… and I'm sorry. This is all just a shock for me._

"I don't blame you." He was pretty floored by this himself. This kind of thing happened in bad B-movies or lame Sci-Fi channel shows, not in some suburb of Blandsville, Utah. "I suppose you want me to keep this a secret, don't you?"

 _That'd probably be best for both of us. You're having a hard enough time believing this; anyone else would probably think you were having a psychotic break or something._ A pause. _One thing you can do for me right now is introduce yourself. In all this fuss, I can't remember if I've caught your name or not. Rad or something?_

"Conrad. Conrad Hawkins. My friends call me 'Rad sometimes, though."

_Conrad Hawkins… pleased to meet you. I just wish it could be under better circumstances._

"Yeah… me too. You're the first Autobot I've ever met, to be honest."

_Hopefully not the last. Do you live here alone?_

"Nope. This is really my mom's house, but she's not home right now. She's a nurse at a doctor's office here in Provo. It's just her, me, and the dog."

_I see. Provo… that's a city in the Western United States, if I'm remembering right._

"Utah. Ever been there?"

_I've passed through Utah once or twice, but never stayed long enough to visit._

"Not much to see here," Conrad confessed, going back to assembling his sandwich. "Though I remember seeing a Porsche once that I swore was an Autobot, but it was going too fast for me to be sure. That wasn't you, was it?"

 _Porsche? That'll be Jazz. I'm an ambulance. Or was, I suppose…_ His voice trailed off wistfully, then he quickly changed the subject. _Once you're done there, turn the television back on._

"I thought you were going to stay out of the way."

 _Look, there's something terrible happening at Autobot City,_ Ratchet insisted. _I've already seen too many friends die, but I have to know what's going on there. Even if I can't physically be there to help, I want to stay updated on what's going on. If it were your friends in danger, wouldn't you want the same thing?_

He couldn't argue with that, he supposed. "Human news networks aren't exactly the most reliable source of info, just to warn you. They go more for shock value than anything else."

_It's better than nothing._

Conrad picked up the sandwich and headed back to the living room, turning the TV on. "At least we won't have to channel surf to find it – every news network seems to be airing it."

_It's a disaster, of course they would all be… oh Primus, no…_

"What?" he asked, looking up at the screen… and promptly dropping his sandwich on the carpet. "Oh shit…"

The reporter currently on the screen had just cut off her report midsentence to scream in surprise as a bright red semi truck barreled past her – why she was so close to the action in the first place was anyone's guess, but that was the least of their worries at the moment. The picture jolted as the cameraman backpedaled to avoid a sudden explosion, then steadied again to show the semi unfolding into the familiar figure of Optimus Prime. A silver figure – Decepticon by the look of it – bellowed something rendered unintelligible by the microphone, answered by something about "one shall fall" from Optimus before the two mechs laid into each other, fists flying, metal thundering with each blow.

Under normal circumstances, Conrad might have thought this to be the coolest thing he'd ever seen. But sheer horror flooded his mind, doubtless from Ratchet's corner of his brain. He felt an overwhelming urge to rush in and help, even though thousands of miles separated him from the fighting, even though he didn't even have the physical means to do much more than watch…

 _Optimus, no!_ Ratchet screamed. _Look out!_

The figures onscreen had no way of hearing him. Conrad and Ratchet could only stare as Prime took a blade to the gut, as fists and blaster bolts found their marks. When the two combatants finally staggered apart, each looked as if they'd just been through a wrecking yard. The silver one was on his hands and knees, dripping oil or some other fluid from various gashes and cracks, and Prime could barely keep to his feet as he aimed a gun at the fallen Decepticon.

"Who's that?" Conrad asked, keeping his voice a whisper.

 _Megatron,_ Ratchet replied softly, a note of relief in his voice. _Leader of the Decepticons. Is it over… is it finally over?_

"Maybe," Conrad murmured. He didn't have to be an expert in Autobot/Decepticon relations to know what the "it" was that Ratchet referred to – if Megatron was the leader of the opposing faction, then Prime holding him at gunpoint was the equivalent of capturing Saddam Hussein or the strike that killed Osama bin Laden. It might not end the war for the Autobots, but it would be a massive step in the right direction…

Something on the screen caught his eye, and he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. "There's a gun on the ground! Right in front of him!"

_Where… oh slag! Prime, shoot! Now!_

Even if Prime could have heard him, it was too late. A red Autobot dashed onto the screen at that moment, grabbing for the gun as if to get it out of Megatron's reach. His lunge missed, and instead Megatron snatched the Autobot and dragged him close, using him as a living shield as he picked up the gun for himself. Prime hesitated, obviously not wanting to take a shot and risk the other Autobot's life… and that was all the opening Megatron needed.

Conrad gave a shout of his own as Prime rocked back, blast after blast slamming into his body. The cameraman lowered the camera at that moment and took off running, as if deciding he'd had enough and was out of there, but the image was seared in Conrad's memory. He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to shut it out. It was no use – it kept replaying in his head, like a shock film stuck on repeat.

_PRIME!_

Ratchet's cry rang through his head, drowning out all other thought. Splitting pain rocked through his skull, making him reel back. Emotions roiled through him – fear, horror, shock, anger, and a black despair that threatened to consume him…

He was vaguely aware of Gandalf whining and barking worriedly, of the TV continuing to drone in the background… then blackness took over.

* * *

"…ner? Conner!"

"Mmph?" That wasn't Ratchet's voice… it sounded more like Mom. Morning already? He grunted and reached out to pull the covers over his head, but he couldn't seem to find them…

Then memory came rushing back, and he opened his eyes. He was sprawled out on the living room floor, his mom and Gandalf both hovering worriedly over him.

"Oh geez, I must have passed out," he groaned, and went to push himself upright. "Embarassing…"

"Hold still and let me check your pulse!" Mom ordered, picking his hand up and placing her fingers on his wrist. "How are you feeling? Dizzy? Light-headed? Think you might have a fever?"

"Mom!" he shouted, trying to pull his hand away. "Don't freak out, okay? I'm not having a stroke or a heart attack, I just… probably stood up too fast or something…"

"I just want to make sure it's nothing serious," she fretted. "What happened?"

"Mr. Jakobson sent me home early… wasn't feeling too well." He rubbed his temples, grimacing as his head throbbed from Ratchet's earlier scream. "I came home, turned on the news… saw Prime get shot."

"Oh dear… maybe the shock of seeing that make you pass out." She patted his shoulder. "Just sit tight and I'll get you some water."

"I'm fine!" he insisted. "I've seen a lot worse than a robot getting shot in video games. Why would it bother me so much now?"

"Because there's a big difference between pixels on a screen and the real thing," she insisted, hurrying into the kitchen. "Feeling light-headed at all?"

"Not really." His head was still killing him, but he elected not to mention it – the last thing he wanted at the moment was her fussing over him. He also decided it wouldn't be smart to tell her he had the ghost of a giant robot stuck in his head. Coming home to find him passed out on the floor was enough of a shock for her – he didn't want her thinking he belonged in a psych ward on top of that.

Come to think of it, Ratchet was being awfully quiet at the moment. Had this whole experienced chased him out of his body for good? Somehow he doubted it.

Mom handed him a glass of water before sitting on the couch to pull off her shoes. "Let me know if you feel dizzy or nauseous or anything, okay?"

"Geez, a guy can't pass out without his mom freaking out over it?" he groaned.

She only smiled at that. "I'm your mom. It's my job to worry about you. Did the news report anything else about… you know?"

"I dunno, I was unconscious for a lot of it." He chanced a glance at the TV.

What he saw made him wish he hadn't looked. The grim face of a news correspondent filled the screen, and as if he somehow sensed he now had Conrad's attention he began his announcement.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this just in from Autobot City, site of the recent Decepticon attack. Terrible news – Optimus Prime, leader of the Autobots, was killed in action."


	3. Chapter 3

It seemed like eons ago that Ratchet had resisted the pull of the Well of All Sparks, chewing the entity out and insisting he wasn't done living yet. Now he wished he had simply given in to the inevitable, let it take his spark and pull him from this life.

In response to Optimus Prime's death he had pulled himself free from Conrad's physical senses, plunging himself into darkness and silence. For hours he had remained there, railing at the injustice of it all, cursing himself for being unavailable when Prime had needed him the most. And when he had screamed himself into exhaustion, he simply let go, letting himself drift, only the barest connection to his human host's emotions reminding him that he was still alive and aware.

 _I should have been there,_ he thought despairingly. _It should have been me. Prime needed me, and I let him down… I let them all down… should have been there…_

The memory of his conversation – if such a strange exchange of emotions and thoughts could properly be called a conversation – with the Well seemed distant and hazy, like a memory of a dream. And yet it haunted him now. The Well's warning, a mere rush of pure thought, stung him – its warning that he may not like what he wished for, and that he would face consequences for the pact he had struck. At the time he hadn't cared… but now that he felt its price, he found it unbearable.

_Is this to be my punishment then? To live, but to stand by and watch as everything I've fought for, everything I care about, dies and crumbles away? If my body is dead, is this my hell?_

If the Well heard him, it remained silent. Just as well – had it responded to his questioning he probably would have unleashed a withering tirade against it. If this was Primus' idea of teaching him a lesson, or of amusing himself at his expense, then he didn't think too highly of the deity at this point. Why couldn't he have simply protected Prime, or restored Ratchet to a proper body so he could actually DO something to help? Why did he play these games?

_Why me? Why am I subjected to this? Is it because I tried to cheat death? Is this what happens whenever someone tries to fight their fate? Or is it something else I did…_

A sudden surge of emotion, but not his own… and not Conrad's either. A vast mind seemed to touch his for a fraction of a second, but the sheer power and size and complexity of it threatened to overwhelm him in that moment. As if from far away he could feel a burst of fear from the human, as if he, too, felt what Ratchet was experiencing.

The mind withdrew as quickly as it had reached out, leaving Ratchet alone again. But the single thought it had pulsed across their connection still rang in his mind, settling itself into one simple phrase – _my ways are not your ways._

 _Whatever that's supposed to mean,_ Ratchet thought grouchily. He had no idea what whoever had spoken to him – Primus, the Well, some other powerful but unknown entity – was trying to accomplish, but it had served to snap him out of his funk. He supposed that was worth something, even if it had given him something incomprehensible to ponder in the meantime.

One thing was for sure – he would get nothing accomplished wallowing in self-pity and despair. He might be stuck without a body, but his mind was working just fine. And he might be too late to stop the worst from happening… but if he could get back to the Autobots somehow, perhaps he could do something to mend some of the damage. At the very least, he could help them pick up the pieces, and provide some comfort to friends who had survived the attack.

Of course, all of that hinged on convincing the human to help him. That would take some doing – he was already gathering that Conrad was a stubborn kid, caring more about his own issues than about the Autobots. He supposed that was understandable – one would always worry more about events that affected one's own life and kind than about those that affected someone or something unrelated. That didn't make it any less frustrating, however.

 _The kid has better instincts,_ Ratchet thought. _The trick is in appealing to them._

Finally he touched Conrad's mind again, opening himself to his sight and hearing. He found himself looking into a mirror through somewhat fuzzy optics – eyes, he corrected himself – staring at what must be Conrad's reflection.

_Ugh._

"Good morning to you too," Conrad muttered, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. "So it wasn't all a dream."

 _Believe me, I wish it was,_ Ratchet remarked. _What happened to you?_

"Night happened," he replied, voice a little slurred and making the medic realize Conrad had just woken up. "Trust me, there's few things uglier on this planet than a human who's just gotten up in the morning."

 _I've seen worse,_ Ratchet replied. Truth be told, while he wasn't a judge of what humans considered good-looking, Conrad certainly wasn't the ugliest creature he'd ever seen. Black-haired and gray-eyed, he looked rather rumpled and bleary-eyed from what must have been a restless night's sleep, and short, bristly hair covered his cheeks. Still, at least he wasn't a Dr. Arkeville or a Lord Chumley, he supposed.

"You gonna watch while I get ready for today?" asked Conrad.

 _Sure, why not._ At the very least, this would be educational, he supposed.

"Um… could you at least not look while I go to the bathroom? I don't like an audience for that."

 _Go to the bathroom… oh, expelling waste products. Right… just let me know when you're done._ And he pulled away briefly, grateful for a word of warning at least. Seeing as even humans found that particular natural process disgusting and embarrassing, he doubted it was something he wanted to see for himself either.

"All right, we're good."

Ratchet took that as consent to re-establish the link. _So what is it you do with your life?_ he asked as Conrad stripped off his clothes and started a shower. _I didn't exactly get the best of looks yesterday… had other things on my CPU._

"Think we all had other things on our minds," he replied, pouring some kind of thick fluid into his hand and kneading it into his hair. "I work at a video game store."

_Ah… is that all?_

"Hey, most of us don't live exciting lives," Conrad retorted. "And it beats digging ditch or flipping burgers. Plus I'm not going to be doing it for the rest of my life – once I get some money saved up I'm going to school."

_That's a worthy goal… what do you plan on studying?_

"Music theory."

That… wasn't exactly the most helpful of things to be studying, though Ratchet figured Jazz might approve of such a choice. _And how is music theory going to help your life?_

"You sound like my dad," Conrad grumbled, and unexpectedly irritation flooded his mind. "'Get a degree you can do something with,' he says. 'Liberal arts is useless,' he says. I happen to love music, what's wrong with wanting to study it? And if I can't be a musician I can at least teach music somewhere, right?"

 _All right, all right, point taken,_ Ratchet replied. _But your father doesn't live here…_

"No, he doesn't," Conrad retorted shortly. "I don't want to talk about it."

Ratchet took the hint and dropped the subject, though he couldn't help but wonder why his paternal creator was such a sore spot for him. _Do you work every day?_

"Except Sundays – store's closed. But I keep pretty busy even when I don't work." He started scrubbing at his body. "Stuff at home, the band, trying out the crazy games and movies Zack shoves at me…"

_A band?_

"Yeah, music… you guys have music, right?"

_Every culture has music, or at least every culture I'm familiar with. It's… probably quite different from what you're used to._

"I'll bet. Probably something really techno, like Daft Punk."

_I have no idea what that is._

"Another band." He turned off the shower and climbed out, reaching for a towel. "Dragonglass – that's our band – we're kind of still trying to find our style. Angela wants to try for something like symphonic metal, Zack wants something more like '80s rock. I guess for now we just kind of make organized noise."

 _To be honest, a lot of your music sounds like 'organized noise' to me,_ Ratchet confessed. _I do enjoy some of your singers, though. That Groban fellow is good. So's Presley._

Conrad snorted at that. "You're an Elvis fan? That's… kind of awesome." Once he'd finished drying off, he tossed the towel aside. "If you're in my head long enough, maybe you'll get a chance to hear us play. We've got a practice coming up."

_I have no idea how long I'm going to be here. Like I said earlier, there's no precedent for this kind of thing. For all I know, my spark could fade out of you today. Or I could be in here the rest of your natural life. We have no way of knowing._

Conrad didn't reply to that right away. He was busy applying some kind of foamy material to his face, and Ratchet watched in fascination as he began scraping it away, taking the layer of coarse stubble off with it. There seemed to be so much that humans had to do to maintain themselves – not just the basics like refueling, resting, and eliminating wastes, but general cleanliness and tidiness as well. Unless one was Tracks or Sunstreaker, a Cybertronian could generally go a week or so between trips to the washrack, and they generally woke up in the morning looking the same as when they retired for the night. Humans seemed to get uglier overnight, and getting themselves looking halfway presentable again seemed to take up a good chunk of time.

He stayed quiet while Conrad finished his morning ritual – shaving, combing his hair, even taking a brush to his teeth of all things. Only when he'd finished and was in the process of getting dressed did he speak up again.

_Soon I'm going to need your help. Maybe not today, but soon._

"I guess that 'eventually I'm going to need your help' has turned into 'I need your help right now,' huh?" Conrad asked, pulling a shoe on.

_I get that you're not thrilled with all this. Neither am I. But the Autobots need my help, and I can't just stand idly by and let things fall apart. Even if I'm stuck in your body, there are still things I can do to help._

"Um… the Autobots are in Tennessee. How are we going to help them from here?"

_We'll just have to find a way to get there._

"Right… look, Ratchet, I can't afford a trip east anytime soon. You know how much a plane ticket costs these days?"

_It'd be a small price to pay to ensure the Decepticons don't take over your world._

"Shouldn't we see how things are going over there first? For all we know they could have put someone new in charge and have things going well by this point."

 _Turn on the blasted news or something, then!_ Ratchet was rapidly losing patience with this kid. Didn't he get how serious this was.

"I don't have time!" Conrad retorted. "I've got a job to be at." He donned a cap, took one last look in the mirror to be sure everything looked presentable, and headed for the kitchen. "Look, I'll grab a newspaper or switch the TV on to a news channel on my break or something, okay? If I'm late again Mr. Jakobsen's going to kill me."

_You don't get how important this is, do you? The fate of two worlds could rest on this!_

"The Autobots aren't going to fall apart because you're not there!"

 _I still have to be there!_ Ratchet insisted. _I have to do something to help!_

Conrad said nothing, and Ratchet suspected the young man was actively ignoring him. He grumbled some choice words to himself, halfway hoping his host would overhear and react, but he just went on pouring a bowl of cereal and pretending he wasn't even there. Was this kid heartless or what? He didn't even care about the Autobot cause, or that the Decepticons could be winning the war for good even as they spoke…

 _Well, look at it from his point of view,_ a little voice in his own mind nagged. _He's not an Autobot. He doesn't even know any Autobots apart from you. This doesn't affect his day-to-day life – nothing's changed for him except you being here. He has no reason to care about this, and unless the Decepticons DO wipe the Autobots out and start taking over the planet in earnest, why should he care?_

True, Ratchet supposed, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Flat-out asking the kid for help wasn't going to work, it seemed – he was going to have to find a way to convince him. Even if it meant he had to bend his pride a bit and compromise on something.

 _Fine,_ he said at last. _I can wait until your break today. But if things are taking a turn for the worse… can you at least consider making the trip?_

Conrad didn't answer right away, concentrating on finishing his breakfast. Ratchet briefly wondered why he was experiencing sight, sound, and touch through the human's senses, but not smell or taste. Maybe he had to actively concentrate on those senses to activate them…

"I'll consider it," he said at last. "But I can't make promises. I have a life too, you know."

Ratchet wanted to argue that he might not have much of a life once the Decepticons conquered the planet, but he decided it would be best not to argue that point. _That'll do for now._

"It'll have to." Conrad stood and headed for the garage… only to curse and stagger as something yelped and lurched out from under the table. The dog bounded into the living room and turned to give the young man a reproachful look.

"Sorry, Gandalf," Conrad told him. "Please don't look at me like that – I stepped on your tail, I didn't come at you with a knife."

The dog whined a bit, then slunk off to sulk.

_He can't be that put out over that minor an injury, can he?_

"He's probably bummed that we're going to work and leaving him home alone all day. He'll be fine once someone gets home." And he headed for the garage to fetch his bike.

Ratchet frowned inwardly. There was something odd about that dog… but it was something he couldn't place…

He'd worry about it later, he supposed. There were more pressing issues on his CPU than a strange canine.

* * *

Conrad braked and pulled up to the back of the store, a slight smile breaking out on his face as he spotted a familiar-looking lump next to the Dumpster. If that was who he thought it was…

"Hi kid!" An arm detached itself from the rest of the lump to wave at him. "Long time no see!"

"Hi, Crazy Jon," Conrad replied, dismounting from his bike and going to chain it up. "Get tired of the shelter already?"

"Aw, they kicked me out again," Jon grumbled, rolling over and climbing to his feet. The man looked fairly short, but given that he walked hunched over most of the time he could have been taller than he looked. His gray-streaked brown hair hung in greasy hanks around his unshaven face, and he wore a faded and patched overcoat, a gray sweatshirt, ragged jeans, and a pair of work boots that looked to be nearing the end of their lifespan. Known as "Crazy Jon" to the employees here, he camped out behind the store periodically and scraped through life by digging through the strip mall's Dumpsters for recyclables. Mr. Jakobsen had threatened to call the cops on him, but Conrad had caught their boss sneaking food out to the man from time to time, so he suspected the threat was all bluster.

"They kicked you out?" asked Conrad. "You didn't start a fight, did you?"

"Nah, they just couldn't handle the truth."

"The truth… oh geez, Jon, did you tell them about the lizard people? Thought I told you to keep quiet about that."

"Well, someone's gotta tell the world the director of that place is one of them scalies!" Jon insisted, throwing an arm up in the air. "They're freakin' everywhere, trying to infiltrate our gov'rment and make lunchmeat outta us! If I can sniff 'em out, it's my duty to warn everyone!"

Conrad didn't know whether to laugh or groan in exasperation. "Hey Jon, I know you want to save the world and all… but if the lizards know that you can see them, they'll target you first, right?"

"Oh… didn't think of that." Jon wore a look of enlightenment on his bedraggled face, despite the fact that Conrad had told him this several times already. "Ah well. What's done is done." And he turned to head back to the Dumpster, doubtless to start the day's can-hunting.

"Hey Jon, wait." Conrad opened the bag hanging off his handlebars and pulled out the brown paper sack that held his lunch. "Here. In case you don't find much today."

A smile brightened the man's grizzled face as he took the sack. "Bless you, kid. You stay safe, ya hear?"

"I plan on it." He saluted Jon before opening the door and heading on in.

 _What's all this about lizard people?_ Ratchet asked, speaking up for the first time since they'd left the house.

"Jon's not quite all there," Conrad replied, whispering the reply just under his breath as he punched in. "Dunno if it's PSOD from his war days or if he was missing some marbles before that, but he's convinced there's lizard people trying to take over our world and use us as livestock. But he's pretty harmless."

 _Never acted on his delusions, then,_ Ratchet noted. _There's something… off about him._

"I did just say he was kinda off his nut…"

 _Not that. It's just something… can't quite put my finger on it…_ His voice trailed off. _Maybe being in here is just knocking me a bit off-center myself. Don't mind me. What about your lunch, though? Don't you need that?_

"I should have a few bucks, I can duck into McDonald's or something on my break. If I don't, well, missing one meal's not gonna kill me. And who knows when Jon's gonna get a chance to eat again…"

"Who you talkin' to, 'Rad?" Zack asked, poking his head out from behind a stack of boxes.

"Nobody, just thinking out loud," Conrad replied quickly.

"How come when I talk to myself its psycho, but when you talk to yourself it's thinking out loud?" Zack did his best to sound accusatory, but his grin and dancing eyes gave him away.

"Har har," Conrad retorted. "Anything need done before we open? Get any deliveries?"

"Not yet. Just get all the lights on, the demos up, and make sure everything's restocked."

"On it."

As the two of them set to work getting Angry Duck Games ready for opening, Conrad mulled over how to deal with the whole Ratchet situation at the moment. He couldn't exactly eject him from his mind or anything, but he could at least make some plans on how to deal with having an Autobot stuck in his brain. Such as how to talk to him without looking like an utter lunatic.

Ratchet must have been thinking the same thing, because he spoke up at that moment. _We need to figure out a way to communicate nonverbally. It's going to look bizarre to people if you start talking to yourself._

Conrad made sure Zack was looking the other way before nodding in response. At least they were on the same page, it seemed like.

_Why don't you try just thinking what you want to say? Focus on it, and see if I can pick it up. We seem to be able to at least sense each other's emotional states, so some form of mind-to-mind communication must be possible._

He wondered if it could still be called mind-to-mind contact if both beings in question were sharing a mind, but he kept that thought to himself. Instead, he decided to give Ratchet's suggestion a shot. Setting down the stack of games in his hands, he closed his eyes and _thought_ as hard as he could at the Autobot.

_**LIKE THIS?** _

_Whoa!_ He could actually feel Ratchet recoil a bit at the force behind that thought-out phrase. _Too loud! Don't "shout" your thoughts!_

He tried again, easing up just a bit. _HOW IS IT SHOUTING WHEN IT'S IN MY MIND?_

_We're mind-to-mind already, it doesn't take THAT much effort to get a message across. And still too much force. Ease up just a bit…_

_How's this?_

_Better. Much better._ Relief colored Ratchet's corner of his mind. _So just think your responses to me like that from now on, all right?_

 _Sure thing,_ Conrad "replied," feeling a burst of relief himself. _This makes things a whole lot easier…_

"Wake up, space cadet!" And a game box – thankfully empty at the moment – bounced off his shoulder.

"Augh!" Conrad whirled to glare at Zack. "What was that for?"

"Focus you must learn, my young apprentice," Zack replied in a gravely voice, grinning. "You were spacin' out, thought I'd wake you up." He held his hand out for the box. "What, you wanted me to kiss you awake like Sleeping Beauty?"

"Ew, no." He handed the box back. "Sorry… still a little out of it today."

"Still thinking about the news?"

"Yeah… hey, you haven't heard anything else about it, have you? We shut off the TV once they announced Optimus was dead, so if there was anything else we missed it."

Zack shrugged. "They mostly just talked about that for the rest of the night. It's Princess Diana all over again."

"Only you could make the jump from giant robots to British royalty."

"Har har. I mean it's the same kind of thing. Big name like Princess Di or Michael Jackson dies, and that's all the media talks about for weeks. You'll see. We won't be able to swing a dead cat for the next month without hitting a retrospective of his life or some conspiracy theory about how his death was an elaborate murder like JFK or something."

"Dude, he was shot by a Decepticon. I think that counts as murder."

"You know what I mean – an inside job. Like one of the Autobots had it in for him and arranged his death or something. Not that I think that happened, I'm not a conspiracy nut, but someone's bound to bring it up."

 _Can you guys change the subject?_ Ratchet groaned. _This is highly uncomfortable._

 _I can try, but when Zack goes off on one of his rants, there's not much you can do._ Aloud he asked "Did we get a paper today?"

"Yeah, it's on the front counter. Three guesses what the headline is, first two don't count."

Conrad checked his watch. Five minutes until they opened; he had time to at least skim the articles and pick up any news that might help Ratchet. He put away the last of the games, then went to the counter and picked up the copy of the Salt Lake Tribune. Just as Zack had warned, the first headline practically screamed OPTIMUS PRIME DIES in a huge font, making Ratchet recoil slightly in his corner of their mind. Thankfully they'd at least had the taste not to put a picture of his death on the cover…

 _Most of this is information we already know,_ Ratchet lamented. _And they misspelled Kup's name. How the frag do you misspell a three-letter word anyhow? I wonder about your journalism sometimes._

_Who's Kup? I didn't even read that far, what are you talking about?_

_You may not be reading that far, but your eyes are still on the page. I've pretty well finished this front page. Try going in further._

Conrad obediently opened the paper and hunted out the rest of the article for him. Seemed that so long as he was looking at something, he didn't have to focus on reading it for Ratchet to be able to read it as well. That was interesting, and kind of helpful too.

" _Ultra Magnus Takes Charge of Autobot Forces…" Well, at least they've got someone competent in charge. Last time we lost a Prime, we scrambled about leaderless for a good six quatrexes before Optimus Prime was chosen…_

_What's a quatrex?_

_Unit of time. It's about equal to…_ He took a moment to calculate. _One of your months._

_How'd you get around leaderless for six months?_

_The Council and the military leaders kept things going for the most part, but morale was pretty bad until Optimus took up the Matrix…_

_Matrix?_ He hoped whatever the Matrix was to the Autobots, it wasn't the same as the Matrix in those movies…

_It's an artifact that contains the combined wisdom of the Primes, and is carried by our current leader. If Ultra Magnus is leading the Autobots now, he must have the Matrix. Probably means we need to be calling him Ultimus Prime or something like that… um, your friend's trying to get your attention._

Conrad glanced up to see Zack standing in front of him, waving his hand in front of his face.

"Hello, anyone home?" Zack asked. "Conrad, you in there, or did the aliens get you?

Conrad raised his hand and gave a wave of his own. "These aren't the droids you're looking for."

Zack laughed. "You have been well-trained, my young apprentice. Mr. Jakobsen's car just pulled up, time to unlock the door and look busy."

"Right." He swept the newspaper to the side and went to turn on the lights while Zack moved to open the door, where a customer was already waiting with a dusty box in his arms. Conrad guessed that the man had been cleaning out his garage, found an old console and some games, and was hoping to turn them in for a quick buck. If there was a Dreamcast in that box, he was seriously calling first dibs on it, but knowing his luck it would be something silly or weird like a Virtual Boy, in which case Zack would probably pay the guy to take it off his hands.

 _You picked an odd line of work, it seems,_ Ratchet noted.

_Eh, I won't be doing this forever. In the meantime, it helps pay the bills at home. You need me to look at the paper again on my break?_

_Not for now. I saw enough that I'm at least satisfied that there's someone competent in charge. But we're going to keep an audial out for any further news. I'd rather not grow too complacent… and we still have no proof that Megatron's dead. He could take advantage of this whole situation for his own ends._

_I have to ask… why is Megatron such a threat anyhow? What's this whole war of yours about?_

_Don't they have a Cybertronian History unit in your schools?_

_Not really. The most they ever cover is some of the bigger events, like the Autobot Trial or the attack on New York City. We talked about it for a couple days in my high school World History unit, and they said something about the Decepticons coming here for energy, but that's about it._

Ratchet snorted. _Figures. They only go in-depth enough to cover how our war affects your kind. Understandable, I suppose, but no less annoying._

_I guess they figure if we want to know more, we can research it ourselves. They do offer courses on it at BYU…_

_No time for that. Looks like I'm going to have to educate you from the ground up…_

"Hawkins, help the damn customer already!"

Conrad jumped at Mr. Jakobsen's shout, and focused his eyes to see the man standing in front of him, still holding the box and giving him a weird look.

 _We'll talk more on your break,_ Ratchet assured him. _For now, do what your friend said and look busy._

"Sorry, Mr. Jakobsen," Conrad told his boss before giving the customer his attention, watching as he pulled a dusty SNES system and a handful of games out of the box. Was it a sign of how mind-numbing his job could be that he would much rather be listening to Ratchet talk about war history than working at the moment? Then again, there were days he'd rather be having a root canal than doing his job. Them was the breaks, he supposed.


	4. Chapter 4

Meanwhile, in another part of Provo, another mental conversation was taking place.

_What precisely are you doing?_

The boy rolled his eyes, as if he were the adult addressing a small child and not the other way around. "I'm gonna jump off the roof of the garage onto Dad's car while he drives up and scare him."

_And you honestly think a moving vehicle, primarily constructed of metal and weighing approximately two tons, is going to be sufficient to break your fall enough to prevent injury?_

The boy shrugged. "I dunno."

_You haven't even thought this through, have you?_

"I'm not gonna jump onto the driveway or anything! Geez, I'm not stupid."

_And jumping onto a moving vehicle is less stupid._

"Shut up, dad'll be home any minute."

_May I ask, for the third time, why you are so dedicated to jumping off the roof of your family unit's home onto a moving vehicle in order to give your paternal creator a scare?_

The boy answered with the sort of honest but maddening simplicity typical of a child: "Because it'll be fun."

_You humans have a bizarre sense of fun._

"TANNER! GET DOWN FROM THERE THIS INSTANT!"

The boy looked down. "Aw, Mom!"

"Don't 'aw, Mom' me, young man," the woman retorted, storming up to the ladder Tanner had set up by the garage door to access the roof. "You are in SO much trouble when your father comes home!"

"Geez, Mom, you act like I'm not even wearing a helmet!"

"I don't care if you're wearing full body armor; you're coming down from there right now!" She gestured firmly at the ladder. "What are you doing up there anyhow?"

"Playing with my robot friend."

"Your robot friend is in trouble too when your father comes home. Do you WANT to be grounded for the rest of the summer? Between this and the garbage disposal…"

"That wasn't me, I swear!"

Prowl gave an internal groan and disconnected from Tanner's sense of hearing in an effort to block out the rest of the argument. Reduced from Prime's second in command to the "imaginary friend" of a human boy… was this his punishment for coming down so hard on the twins for their last pranking spree? He thought they had been difficult to handle, but they were practically saints in comparison to the crazy, logic-free mind of a human boy.

Not for the first time, Prowl wondered just how he had gotten into this mess anyhow… and if this was the result of one of Wheeljack's experiments backfiring spectacularly, he was going to throttle the scientist when he saw him next. Even if it was impossible for a mech to be strangled to death, it would at least relieve some of his pent-up irritation.

* * *

"Hawkins, Bowen, which of you wants overtime?" Mr. Jakobsen said abruptly, not looking up from checking over a delivery form for errors. "Need someone to cover a night shift."

"I'll do it," Zack volunteered, raising his hand. "Dad's been crankier than normal, so it'll be a legitimate excuse to get out of the house tonight."

"Who's calling in sick?" asked Conrad.

"Zee," Mr. Jakobsen replied. "Somethin' about twenty-four hour flu or something."

Conrad frowned. In the three years he'd worked here, he hadn't known Angela to take time off for an illness… or for anything except the death of one of her grandparents two years back. For her to call in sick had to mean something worse than a simple flubug. It would be like her to have a broken limb or a serious illness and simply tell her friends she was a little under the weather, though.

"Hope she's better in time for band practice tomorrow," Zack pointed out. "Especially since she's the one who keeps pushin' for us to rehearse."

"Can you blame her?" asked Conrad. "If we want to get serious about this band, we need to practice more. Get a few more songs under our belt. Hell, put an album together and try to sell it. The more we treat it like a joke, the more we're going to suck."

Zack shrugged. "Hard to practice new songs when nobody's written any new songs for us. Hint, hint."

"I'm working on it," Conrad retorted. "I'm a little stuck with the one I'm working on."

"Stuck on a rhyme?"

"No, just plain stuck. I want something epic for the bridge…"

"Your last one wasn't epic and it's our most popular song. C'mon, man, just fart something out and we'll work with it! Song doesn't have to be a masterpiece to be popular. Look at 'Gangam Style' or 'Call Me Maybe…'"

"Ugh, I want a song, not an Internet meme." He cut open another box and began pulling out copies of _Skyrim._ "If you're suddenly the genius on what's popular, you write the songs."

Zack raised his hands. "Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a musician!"

"Whatever, Doctor Who."

"Just the Doctor, no last name. And the line's from Star Trek, not Doctor Who…"

"Whatever, Doc." And he went to go restock the shelves.

 _All right, I admit, I'm dying of curiosity,_ Ratchet admitted. _What two songs does your band play?_

' _The first one's just a cover of a Nightwish song,'_ _Conrad_ replied. _'The second one's this stupid little tune I wrote back in high school about a sci-fi geek who gets abducted by aliens and ends up scaring them into dropping him back home. But everyone who hears it loves it. No accounting for taste, I guess.'_

_I suppose not. And you didn't tell me you wrote music._

' _You never asked.'_

_Huh… if you write your own music, maybe studying the subject isn't a bad thing. Refine your craft and all._

' _Thanks. At least you're more reasonable about it than my dad.'_

_I'd wondered about that… you seemed rather irritated when your paternal creator was mentioned before. Do the two of you not get along?_

' _You could say that, I guess. He and my mom divorced about five years ago, and they were separated for a few years before that. We don't talk a whole lot, and he hasn't really been interested in my life since the divorce. He's never really liked me going into music as a career, though.'_

 _Ah._ A moment of silence. _Should I not pry any further?_

Conrad hesitated – this was information he hadn't even shared with the band, let alone a giant robot he'd only known for a day or so. But seeing as they were sharing headspace, Ratchet was going to find out sooner or later, so he supposed he ought to let him know now.

' _Let's just say it's hard for two people to want to stay married when one finds the other in bed with his workout coach.'_

_Oh… oh! Yeah, that's understandable, I suppose._

' _You suppose? Is infidelity not a big deal for you guys or something?'_

_Infidelity doesn't exist for our kind. When two Cybertronians bond, it's for life. Only death can break a bond, and if the other half of the bond survives their partner they don't take on another bondmate. And believe me, we take that kind of thing very seriously – there's no negating a bond if you get bored with your partner or realize you've made a mistake, so mechs are encouraged to only bond if they're absolutely sure their partner is right for them._

So divorce wasn't a thing for Autobots… that was interesting. And now that Ratchet had brought up his kind he seized on that as a chance to change the subject.

' _You said you were going to tell me more about your guys' war.'_

_Oh, right. That's probably best done once you get home from work. It's going to take awhile and your boss might not appreciate you zoning out on the job…_

"Excuse me?"

Conrad looked up from his shelving. A young woman, wearing a light jeans jacket over clothes he assumed were trendy for high-schoolers this year, stood at the end of the shelf, tapping her foot and giving him an irritated look. He wondered how long she'd been waiting for him to snap out of his funk, then wondered what she was doing in a gaming store in the first place. She didn't seem to be the gaming type. Then again, if there were grown men who admitted to watching My Little Pony – Fielding came to mind – he supposed there could be prom-queen-looking girls who played _Halo_ or _Gears of War_. Or she could be looking for a present for her boyfriend or something.

"Can I help you?" he asked, standing and setting aside the game box in his hand.

The girl's irritation evaporated, and she gave a perky smile. "Yeah, I was wondering if you had _The Hobbit_ in yet."

"Um… I don't think they released a video game for that movie."

"I was meaning the movie itself," she pointed out. "I looked at Hastings but it's SO expensive there, so I was hoping maybe you had a used copy already or something."

Great, one of these people. He braced himself for a backlash and tried again. "Miss, we're a video game store. We don't carry movies."

"But Hastings has it!"

"Ma'am, we're not Hastings. We only do video games."

"Oh." She seemed to ponder that for a moment. "Well, do you have the new James Bond?"

"Not unless they made a video game of it. We have _Goldeneye_ for the Wii."

"I don't even have a Wii," she said dismissively. "What about _Silver Linings Playbook_? Or _Les Miserables,_ the new one with Hugh Jackman?"

"Miss…" He shut his mouth, aware that he was about to snap at her. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't tell off the customer. That was Mr. Jakobsen's job, and he'd be in trouble if he denied his boss the pleasure of giving a verbal thrashing to an idiot customer. At least that was one perk of his job – he might not be able to talk back to a troublesome customer, but he had a boss who would handle that for him.

"Miss, Angry Duck Games specializes in new and used video games, consoles, and equipment. Not movies, not music, not books. Just video games. I'd be happy to give you directions to Walmart or a Redbox if you wanted to check there for new movies."

"Ugh," she groaned, rolling her eyes. "I just wanted a freakin' movie, is that too much to ask?" She turned and stomped off.

 _Primus, what's her problem?_ Ratchet demanded.

' _Believe it or not, she's not the only one who comes in asking for things like that. People come in all the time asking for things we don't have – movies, computers, CDs, even cell phones. People assume that we're Hastings or Best Buy just because we have video games.'_

_If people keep asking for that kind of thing, why doesn't your boss just stock movies and such things? That way he can fill the demand._

' _Too much hassle with the inventory, I guess. Plus he'd have to change the name of the store, and he doesn't think Angry Duck Everything will have quite the same ring to it as Angry Duck Games.'_

Ratchet chuckled. _Guess he has a point._

' _You sure I can't get a history lesson now? It might help pass the time.'_

_Only if you're sure it won't interfere with your work. I'd rather not get you in trouble._

' _I can work and listen. Won't be any different from listening to music while I work.'_

_If you're sure. Suppose it begins with the first Civil War, at the beginning of our recorded history…_

"Excuse me?"

Conrad glanced up to find the girl back at the end of the isle. "Huh?"

"Do you have _Wreck-It Ralph?_ It's a video-game movie, you should carry it…"

Okay, he gave up. "Why don't you talk to our manager about it, ma'am? He's right over at the front counter."

"'Kay." And she walked off, oblivious to the tongue-lashing she was about to receive.

_There's something odd about her._

' _You mean besides the fact that she's an airhead?'_

_It's just… queer. Like she's giving off an energy signal, except I no longer have the sensors to identify exactly what it is. It's the same signal I was picking up from Crazy Jon, and that dog of yours._

' _What do you think it is?'_

_Beats me. Like I said, without the sensors and scanners built into my original body I can't tell what it is. Maybe if I got closer to one of them I'd be able to get a better idea of it._

' _I'm not gonna go up and manhandle the customer to satisfy your curiosity. I could go to prison for that.'_

_I don't expect you to. Just wait until you get off work and can meet up with Crazy Jon again. Or if he's not there, go home and investigate your dog. Something's going on here, and I aim to find out._

' _This is sure a change from "We have to find out what's going on at Autobot City and get there right away," you know.'_

 _Now that I'm satisfied that the situation at Autobot City is under control, I'd like to see what's causing this,_ Ratchet replied testily. _Do you want your history lesson or not? Because if you'd rather get smart with me I can skip it entirely._

' _Okay, okay, geez… start over. Something about a Civil War?'_

 _Right._ And he launched into a lecture, Conrad keeping a mental ear tuned to it as he continued to straighten and restock the shelves. The lecture was interrupted a few minutes in by the prom queen's shrieking as Howard chased her to her car, and he had to smother a laugh with his hand. This job might have crappy pay and no benefits, but at least it guaranteed entertainment.

* * *

… _which resulted in us waking up on your planet, with alt modes corresponding to vehicles typical of your level of technology,_ _he_ concluded. _And from there, I'm guessing you know the rest._

' _Huh… so why haven't you guys changed alt modes since the eighties? Our technology's improved since then, and to be honest there aren't many 1984 models on the roads anymore.'_

_Some of us have changed modes to accommodate for the times. But most of us find the modes SkySpy provided us with perfectly suitable for our needs. We've grown comfortable with them and would prefer not to change them if we don't need to. Even you humans don't undergo surgery to alter your looks or body type whenever you feel like it, do you?_

' _Some do.'_ Conrad braked his bike in front of the house. i _'But I get your point.'_

Ratchet sighed inwardly, grateful that the history lecture was over for now. He was no historian, and it had taken some real CPU-wracking to recall some of the details of the war. It didn't help that Conrad hadn't been a passive listener – he'd been genuinely curious and kept interrupting with questions, some of which Ratchet had no answer to. Had he been in his original body he could have remotely accessed Teletraan-1 for the answers…

But he wasn't in his original body. Its abilities were out of his grasp at the moment. He had to make do with what he had… and it was rapidly becoming clear that an organic body just didn't have a fraction of the capabilities of a Cybertronian chassis. This was going to take awhile to get used to.

Conrad pulled out a set of keys and went to unlock the door, but paused. "Huh."

_Huh what?_

' _Gandalf's not at the window.'_

_I take it that's not a good sign._

' _No, it's not. Usually he's so happy to see us when we get home he's trying to claw his way through the glass. I hope he's not sick again.'_

_You don't think he could have escaped the house, do you?_

' _No, he's not the type to wander off. Besides, the house is locked and there's no doggie door, and he's too old to try breaking a window or chewing through a screen.'_ He unlocked the door and pushed it open, peering into the house. "Gandalf?"

A faint snarl was their answer. Ratchet felt every muscle in Conrad's body tense in response, a reaction he would have echoed had he any control over his current body. Whatever energy had infected the dog, if it had turned him vicious…

Conrad dragged his bike through the kitchen, and Ratchet sensed he intended to use it as a shield in case the creature attacked. He looked on, ready to shout out a warning, as the young man peered around the corner and into the living room.

"GANDALF!"

The dog glanced up at the bellowing of his name. A guitar-shaped game controller lay under his forepaws, and from all appearances it looked as if he had gnawed the thing open to get at its internal components. The entire living room looked to be in a similar state of tooth-inflicted destruction – several cushions had been gutted and their fluffy contents scattered across the floor like so much snow, and the floor in one corner was covered in dirt and bits of plant matter from where a potted plant had been knocked down and chewed on. Even if the culprit hadn't been caught red-handed – or red-pawed, Ratchet supposed – the dirt caking his nose and the clump of white stuffing hanging from the corner of his mouth were enough evidence to damn him.

Completely oblivious to the trouble he was in, the dog thumped his tail against the floor and whined excitedly at seeing Conrad.

"Don't give me that look!" Conrad scolded. "Bad dog!"

Gandalf whined again, lowering his head and giving him an utterly heartbroken look. Ratchet couldn't help it – he burst out laughing. That expression reminded him so much of Bluestreak – unlike the Lambo twins, who inevitably tried to laugh or bluff their way out of trouble when caught in a prank, Bluestreak would instead give Ratchet his saddest, most guilt-ridden look whenever he thought he might be in for a scolding or worse. More often than not it resulted in Ratchet forgetting his anger and reducing whatever punishment he'd intended to deliver to a short lecture and an admonition to behave himself from now on.

' _What's so funny?'_ Conrad demanded.

_Sorry… that look on his face… it reminded me of someone else. And don't be too hard on him. Don't dogs feel the urge to chew sometimes?_

' _Yeah, when they're puppies. But Gandalf should be out of that stage by now. He hasn't chewed in years.'_ He stooped down and yanked the controller away from the dog. i _'And this was an expensive controller!'_

 _Well, if this is atypical behavior for him, maybe there's a legitimate reason for it,_ _Ratchet_ theorized. _Maybe it's an illness._

' _Or maybe he's finally fed up with Mom and I being gone all day and is taking it out on our stuff.'_ All the same, Conrad reached out and gave the dog a punitive swat on the rump.

A jolt passed through their shared mind at the moment – a stab of emotion that didn't belong to either himself or his host. In the brief moment Conrad's hand was in contact with Gandalf they both felt a burst of mingled anger, confusion, and terror driving through their minds like a dagger. Conrad recoiled and staggered, swearing loudly, and Ratchet briefly disconnected from his host's senses in an effort to "reboot" and regain his mental bearings.

He reconnected in time to see Gandalf bolt from the room, yelping piteously, his tail tucked between his legs.

"The hell was that?" Conrad demanded aloud.

 _Frag if I know,_ _Ratchet_ replied. _Never had THAT happen before. Those animals aren't telepathic, are they?_

' _Shouldn't be. And if Gandalf were, you'd think we'd have known by now.'_ He looked around the room, groaning in dismay at the mess. i _'Looks like I get to play cleanup duty before Mom gets home.'_

Ratchet wasn't so concerned about the mess, however. That contact with Gandalf had been too brief to draw any certain conclusions, but he had the distinct impression that whatever mind they had touched, it didn't belong to the dog. There had been something all too familiar about it…

Another burst of emotion filled him, but this time it was his own – a burning elation that seemed to strengthen him. For the first time since this whole mess had begun, he felt hope… hope that the bargain he had struck wasn't in vain. Did one of his fallen comrades live on in an organic body as well? Did the unfortunate canine play host to an Autobot spark? It might explain his current weird behavior – an animal would react differently from a human to changes in its body and mind, and perhaps chewing on random objects had been the only way Gandalf had to deal with his inner turmoil. It might even be a conscious cry for help on his part, an alert to his owners that something didn't feel right and he didn't know what to do about it.

And if the odd energy output from Gandalf meant he played host to a spark… perhaps it meant the others had lived on as well. Perhaps Wheeljack lived on in Crazy Jon, or in the teenage girl from the game store. And perhaps all the others who had fallen in battle were not truly dead, but inhabiting organic bodies elsewhere… slag, perhaps even Optimus Prime was alive and well, if trapped in a body of flesh…

He had to rein in his enthusiasm and force himself to think realistically. This was all conjecture at the moment. He needed proof. He needed to confirm that one of his allies really did live on in Gandalf's body. If his hunch proved correct, then he'd worry about tracking down the others.

Conrad paused in gathering the mangled cushions. _'You're awfully thoughtful in there.'_

_I have a theory, but it might seem bizarre to you._

He snorted. _'I have the ghost of a giant alien robot in my head. I'm kind of open to weird theories at the moment.'_

_I concede that point. But what if I told you that I might not be the only one of my kind stuck like this? That some of the others killed by the Decepticons might live on… and that one of them might be residing in your dog's body?_

Conrad seemed about to protest, but instead he became thoughtful. _'Huh… that might explain why he went all goofy. Especially if he's got a Dinobot in there or something.'_

_I didn't think about that… but if Grimlock's in there, I can see him being this destructive in response. I want to prove this, though._

' _Easy enough to do.'_ Conrad set the cushions aside and walked through the house. _'His favorite hiding spot is under Mom's bed. It's gonna be a pain to drag him out, though.'_

_That probably won't be necessary. Just touch him and see if that's enough._

True to Conrad's word, Gandalf had wedged himself under the bed in one of the bedrooms. Conrad laid down on his stomach and reached beneath the bed, but the dog whined and scooted away from his hand.

"C'mon, boy," Conrad urged. "You're not in trouble. Sorry I yelled at you, 'kay?"

Gandalf whimpered, as if he wasn't sure he believed him.

"C'mon out," he cajoled. "I'll give you a treat. Want one of your cookies? C'mon out, boy!"

Gandalf's ears perked up at the mention of a treat, but something in his eyes flashed, and instead of coming out he backed away from the outstretched hand, ears flat against his head.

"Gandalf, c'mon," Conrad insisted. "Why're you being so difficult?"

 _Could be whatever Autobot's inside him got spooked,_ _Ratchet_ theorized. _And he's warning the dog away from you. Maybe we'd better wait until he calms down…_

"Conrad Reginald Hawkins!"

"Ugh," Conrad groaned, and wriggled out from under the bed. "Mom, I can explain…"

The woman standing in the bedroom doorway bore enough of a resemblance to Conrad that even without his host confirming it, Ratchet could guess the family relationship right away. Her hair was a chestnut color in contrast to Conrad's black hair – maybe she dyed it, or maybe he simply had his father's genetics in that respect – but the flashing gray eyes and the set of the jaw were similar enough. She wore the crisp sort of clothes Ratchet had come to associate with human nurses, with a nametag reading "Lindsey Carson" still hanging from her pocket and a navy-blue bag still hanging from her shoulder. And she looked fit to kill as she regarded her son, a look in her eyes that demanded an explanation right now if he wanted to avoid a good verbal thrashing.

"What's the rule about going into my room, young man?"

"Mom…"

"It hasn't changed in twenty-one years, I'm not sure why it suddenly doesn't matter now. And while you're at it, explain the mess in the living room..."

"Mom, Gandalf chewed up the living room, I was trying to get him out from under the bed to see what's wrong with him!"

The anger left her eyes at that moment. "That explains the mess." She sighed, a different sort of irritation taking over now. "We can't afford a vet bill right now, but I'll call in the morning and see if we can't get him in. This isn't normal for him."

"Think you can get him out from under the bed? I must have spooked him when I yelled at him for chewing up my Guitar Hero controller, and now he won't come out."

"Oh no, and that was an expensive controller." She looked at the bed, considering, then shook her head. "Let him come out on his own. He'll calm down."

Conrad didn't seem so convinced, but he shrugged and headed out of the room anyhow.

"And next time stay out of my room," she ordered. "Dog problem or not. Let me handle it when I get home."

"Even if he throws up on your bed?" Conrad asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not like I don't deal with people throwing up on a regular basis at work," she replied. "You wouldn't want me going into your room when you're not home."

"That's true… sorry."

"Don't be. Sorry I lost my temper. It's just been a long day." She sighed and looked around the living room with a resigned expression. "The fun never ends, does it?"

"Life, it's just one damn thing after another," Conrad replied with a slight laugh. "How about I handle dinner if you handle the living room?"

"Sounds fair."

As Conrad headed for the kitchen, Ratchet took the opportunity to speak up. _You two seem to handle things well between the two of you._

' _We've kind of had to. Now that I'm an adult, we're more like roommates than a mom taking care of a kid. And since Dad's not around to handle things, we have to split the housework and cooking between us. It's not easy, but we get by.'_

 _I've noticed that._ Ratchet sighed. _Once that dog comes out of hiding, I still want an up-close look at him. If there is an Autobot in there, I want to get him calmed down and assure him he's not alone. Once that's taken care of, then I want to hunt down the others if at all possible._

' _Fun times.'_

_I know, it's an inconvenience for you, but it has to be done. And the sooner we can track down the others, the sooner we can find a solution to this problem._

' _You mean getting you guys out of our bodies?'_

_That's precisely what I mean._

Conrad grinned. _'Where do we start?'_

 _One thing at a time, Conrad. First the dog, then we'll go from there._ He went quiet a moment, letting Conrad work on digging through the refrigerator undisturbed for a moment. Then he chuckled softly.

' _What's so funny?'_

_Reginald… really?_

' _Oh shut up. It's a family name. Your kind's just lucky enough to not have to get saddled with embarrassing middle names.'_

_I knew enough mechanisms back home with embarrassing given names that you'd be surprised. Sludge, Slag, Blot, Slog, Erector…_

Conrad snorted, then cracked up laughing. _'You're kidding! Erector?'_

_I know, the word has connotations among your kind…_

Any further communication with him was impossible at the moment, however – the young man was nearly in hysterics with laughter. Even when his mom stuck her head into the kitchen to ask if everything was okay, he couldn't stop laughing. Ratchet, for his part, had to chuckle a bit himself. Conrad was all right, he decided. A little stubborn, yes, but he wasn't a bad kid. Maybe the two of them would get along better than he had first thought.


	5. Chapter 5

_Primus hates me._

That wasn't exactly a new thought. Huffer had long been convinced that whatever powers governed the universe – Primus, Fate, one of the humans' deities, or just plain luck – they must hate him. Maybe he'd done something in a past life to offend them, if reincarnation was even a thing. Maybe his very existence offended them on some level, as if he'd failed some kind of secret test and was now paying the price. Or maybe they just needed a scapegoat, and he'd been a convenient target. It was the only explanation he could think of for why everything was going so consistently wrong for him lately.

But this latest incident was just the cherry on the sundae, as the humans would say. Whatever a cherry was, or a sundae for that matter… he'd never been bothered to look either term up before now. But whatever.

His host bolted out of hiding at that moment, rasping angrily as it pecked at the legs of a couple of high-school kids exiting the store. It was just their bad luck that they happened to be wearing sandals and shorts that day, and they yelped and backpedaled quickly as their attacker scored a few vicious bites at their ankles and calves. One of them aimed a kick at the creature, but the blow went wide and missed, and in the end the two boys stalked off, muttering.

The duck beamed in satisfaction – as much as a duck could beam, anyhow – and waddled back to its customary resting spot in the bushes, waiting for the next passerby.

 _This sucks,_ Huffer thought sourly. _I get shot and I don't even get the pleasure of a decent afterlife. No, I get stuck in the body of a stupid flesh creature. Not just any flesh creature, but one that has to go for a fraggin' swim every day. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's water._

The duck gave a rasp that must have been duck-speech for "don't care" before hunkering down in its makeshift nest, a bowl-shaped hollow it had dug out in the dirt and cedar chips in a nearby flowerbed. Being a bird, it didn't exactly have particularly thrilling thoughts – its mind was mostly on watching for potential threats (which it seemed to define as "anything that moved") and wondering whether or not there'd be anything edible at the pond in the park later on. If it was even aware that it had picked up a mental hitchhiker, it didn't seem to care.

_Primus must be laughing at me right now. That must be it. He needs a toy at the moment, and I'm his cosmic plaything. Well, I sure hope you're getting your yuks now, Primus! By sticking my CPU in the body of a slaggin' birdbrain!_

Someone lobbed a paper bag into the bushes, and the duck rose and waddled over to investigate, its interest piqued. Obviously it had learned that human garbage sometimes meant food, and so was always worth investigating. It was delighted to discover the remains of a hamburger inside, and it pecked eagerly away at the bun.

 _Frag my life. Just frag it._ Maybe if he'd been a little quicker in dodging Blitzwing back at Autobot City, he wouldn't be in this mess. Or Primus would have found another way to screw him over.

Idly he wondered if Wheeljack and Windcharger had suffered the same fate – he'd seen them go down mere moments before he was shot. Maybe they were squirrels or something. No, they always had better luck than he did. Maybe they were humans and could actually do something about their situation. Or maybe they had joined the Allspark, and were laughing along with Primus at Huffer's fate. That was probably the more likely option…

* * *

Once dinner was over with and Mom had gone into her room to read and relax, Conrad turned on the television and flopped back on the couch, intent on vegging for the evening. It was time for the news, so he'd sit through that and let Ratchet absorb what he could before hijacking the TV for a game of some sort. _Bioshock_ sounded good, or _Arkham Asylum…_

 _They're releasing a casualty list already,_ Ratchet noted, not without some dread.

' _Is that good or bad?'_

_Surprising that they're doing it this soon… but it will at least give us an idea of who we're looking for. Who might be trapped in the organics we've encountered._

' _True, I guess.'_ He skimmed the list of names – Optimus Prime, Prowl, Ironhide, Ratchet (a no-brainer, even if he wasn't quite dead), Wheeljack, Brawn, Windcharger, and Huffer. He recognized a few of those names, but he had no idea who Windcharger or Huffer were. _'Um, should I be writing these down?'_

_You don't need to. I can remember them just fine. I just hope that wherever they are, they're okay._

' _I'm sure they'll be fine… if they don't freak out over being in meatbag bodies first thing.'_

_Meatbag bodies… I've never heard that term before._

' _Probably because you've never watched Futurama…'_

A "Breaking News" message flashed across the screen at that moment, and a grim-faced anchorwoman cut off the rest of Conrad's explanation.

"We've just received word that another attack has taken place at Autobot City," she reported gravely. "Just after seven PM this evening, an unknown number of ships fired on the Autobot base, causing widespread damage."

 _Oh Primus,_ Ratchet groaned. _Does this never end?_

' _Holy freak… you think Megatron survived? And he's trying to finish Autobot City off?'_

 _More likely his replacement is trying to make a statement,_ Ratchet replied. _Proving he's better than Megatron in that he can actually wipe out the Autobots without getting killed himself. That'd be a Starscream thing to do…_ His voice trailed off, and his worry and frustration radiated through Conrad's mind – worry about the fates of his comrades, and frustration that he couldn't do a thing about it.

"Authorities have not yet confirmed whether the attackers were Decepticons or not, but a full evacuation of Autobot City and the surrounding area is underway. No deaths have been reported at this time…"

 _Shut it off,_ Ratchet insisted. _I don't want to hear anymore._

Conrad was all too happy to oblige, and he grabbed the remote and switched it off. _'I'm sorry, Ratch.'_

 _This isn't your fault,_ Ratchet replied softly. _I just… wish there was more I could do. I feel so helpless… stuck here, unable to do a thing to help._

Conrad was silent. What could he say? Words just didn't feel adequate to comfort someone who had lost his comrades – and his own life – to his worst enemies, and who risked losing everything he cared about even as they sat here and watched. He couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like, stuck in the body of another and having to just watch as everything he cared for was destroyed… but he could guess that it was one of the most horrible feelings in the world.

Gandalf padded into the room at that moment, dirt from the plant he'd destroyed still caking his nose. Without so much as a glance at Conrad he hauled himself onto the couch, grunting with the effort, and nudged his head under his hand to demand attention. It was as if the disaster in the living room and his subsequent freakout had never happened, and he was the same lazy, lovable mutt as before.

"Finally decided to be social, boy?" Conrad asked, reaching up to knead him behind the ears.

 _It's possible the Autobot sharing minds with him has calmed down,_ Ratchet noted. _Or the dog's will is overriding the Bot's. I'm guessing the former, though – Red Alert wasn't on the list of fatalities, and none of the others were given to freaking out for an extended period of time._

' _Think you can make contact with them?'_ Conrad asked.

 _I can try._ Something pulsed in the Autobot's corner of his mind, as if he were trying to project his thoughts down Conrad's arm and into Gandalf's brain. T _his is Autobot Ratchet, Chief Medical Officer of Optimus Prime's forces. I know someone's in there… can you hear me? Give me some sign that you can hear me and communicate._

A moment of silence. Then another voice entered his mind – this one high and raspy, with a metallic undertone and a weird sort of stutter at the end of every sentence.

_Autobot… great, I find a fellow mech, and it's an Autobot-Autobot. Just my luck-luck._

Complete shock flooded Ratchet's part of his mind at that moment. _It can't be…_

' _Who is it? That's not Prime's voice, unless he's been sucking helium…'_

_That's Shrapnel! He's an Insecticon – a Decepticon!_

"What?!" Conrad jerked his hand back, scooting as far away from the dog as the couch would allow. "This happened to 'Cons too?!"

 _Evidently._ Ratchet's tone was hard and anxious now. _Stay back. He could be dangerous, especially given that he knows you harbor an Autobot now._

Conrad scrambled off the couch and moved to the other side of the room, looking for anything that could be used as a handy weapon should this Shrapnel guy goad Gandalf into attacking. Small wonder he'd turned destructive so recently – with a Decepticon in his head, of course he'd be more vicious now, more prone to wrecking havoc just for the sake of wrecking havoc. He'd have to warn Mom… though whether she believed him or not was anyone's guess. And though the thought of locking Gandalf up or even having to put him down before he hurt someone made him recoil in horror, would they even have a choice in that matter?

Gandalf whined and thumped his tail once, looking remarkably confused. Then he wriggled off the couch, grunting and groaning with the effort, and ambled over to Conrad.

_Careful…_

' _Don't need to tell me.'_ Conrad grabbed a bronze bookend off the shelf and raised it, though he highly doubted he'd be able to hit his own dog with it even if he attacked. _'How dangerous is Shrapnel anyhow?'_

_I'm not sure of his abilities in this body, but as a mech he had the ability to clone himself, discharge lightning, and eat almost anything in his path._

' _Oh great, that makes me feel loads better.'_

_Well, you asked._

Gandalf looked up at him with wide, puzzled eyes, whining. Then he lowered his head and nuzzled up against Conrad's legs, leaning against him as if for comfort. Conrad held his breath, every muscle in his body so tense they almost hurt, grip tightening on the bookend…

 _Whoa, relax, flesh bug-bug,_ Shrapnel chirped. _Not gonna hurt you. And why'd you stop scratching? Dog had the right idea, scratching felt good-good…_

"You're a Decepticon," Conrad retorted. "You guys tend to hurt people on a regular basis."

A high-pitched giggle. _Decepticons maybe… Insecticons? We're more interested in food-food. Only worked for Megatron when he offered a deal… but he liked double-crossing us at every chance-chance. Don't want to hurt you… but wouldn't say no to something to eat-eat. Dog says you've got cookies-cookies?_

' _Ratch?'_ Conrad ventured. _'What do I do now?'_ It wasn't exactly every day that one's dog was possessed by a hungry, double-talking Decepticon.

Ratchet seemed to consider that himself. _Well… his statements don't exactly contradict any observations I've ever made about the Insecticons. They were a kind of rogue faction that answered to Megatron only when they felt like it. If he's double-crossed them a lot in the past, that's understandable… though they aren't exactly trustworthy little buggers themselves._

 _Hey!_ Shrapnel yelped. _I heard that-that!_

' _So what do we do about this one?'_

 _For now…_ Ratchet pondered that a little longer. _For now, go get him a cookie. Sounds like so long as the dog's happy, he's not going to hurt anyone._

Of all the advice he could have heard on how to deal with a potentially dangerous Decepticon, "get him a cookie" had to be the weirdest. But he did have a point. It sounded like this Shrapnel character had a similar mindset to Gandalf – it seemed the way to win his loyalty was through his stomach… fuel tank… whatever they had.

"Conner?" Mom called out from the bedroom. "Who are you talking to out there?"

Great, Mom was overhearing his side of the conversation. He probably sounded like a madman. "Um… just playing a game. Got my headset on."

"All right. Try to keep it down a little, I'm heading to bed."

"All right, sorry." He returned the bookend to the shelf. "Night, Mom."

"Night, Conner."

 _Really, human, lying to your creator-creator?_ Shrapnel teased. _And no need to talk out loud – I can hear you talk to the Autobot in there-there._

Well, at least that simplified things. _'What are you doing in my dog?'_

_Dunno. What's a doctor-bot doing in a human-human? 'Specially since I thought we killed him. Fraggin' Autobots just don't stay dead…_

_I could say the same for Insecticons,_ Ratchet replied testily. _And frag if I know. One minute I'm taking a bolt through the chassis, the next I'm waking up in a flesh body._

 _Sounds about right-right,_ Shrapnel grumbled. _Things were going so well, too… eating Autobot City one minute, the next getting run over by Optimus Prime-Prime. Then Starscream has all the injured chucked off Astrotrain, then stuck here-here._

He could feel Ratchet wince in the back of his mind. _Not even an attempt made at repairs?_

_Starscream didn't care-care. He wanted the leadership, and Megatron was too damaged to fight back-back. Rest of us just victims of circumstance, I guess-guess._

Ouch. That was the suckiest retirement plan in existence. _'This Starscream guy sounds like a real piece of work.'_

 _That's one way to put it-put it._ Shrapnel giggled. _Silly me, I'm agreeing with a human-human._

 _Who was killed at the battle of Autobot City?_ Ratchet asked. _Or got thrown off the ship after the battle?_

_Megatron, Thundercracker, Skywarp, and Insecticons-Insecticons._

' _How many Insecticons are there?'_ asked Conrad.

_Three. Me, Kickback, and Bombshell-Bombshell._

Ratchet gave a mental sigh. _So we've got more mechs to look out for. Just great._

' _Are we really going to be hunting down Decepticons as well?'_ Conrad asked. The thought of scouring Provo for angry killer robots stuck in squishy bodies wasn't exactly appealing.

 _I don't like it, but we'd better,_ Ratchet replied. _Partly because I'd feel a lot better knowing just where our enemies are, and partly because having a homicidal Decepticon stuck in one's head isn't a fate I'd wish on Dr. Arkeville, let alone an innocent human._

 _Your concern for our welfare is touching, Autobot-Autobot,_ Shrapnel muttered with more than a little snark in his tone. _Hey human, you gonna pay up? We were promised cookies-cookies._

Conrad sighed and headed for the kitchen. "C'mon, boy, want a treat?"

Gandalf perked up, and he trotted after him eagerly.

 _This throws a whole new spanner in the works,_ Ratchet noted as Conrad dug around in the cupboard for the box of dog treats. _I thought this would only be a matter of finding my comrades and getting us to Autobot City to see if this can be reversed. Now we've got to deal with tracking down our mortal foes at the same time, and deciding what to do about them._

' _What CAN be done about it? You said this had never happened before.'_

_I'm sure our scientists can puzzle something out. And at any rate, I'd rather not leave anyone with a spark in their body for too long. We don't know what kind of long-term effects rarefied energon can have on an organic._

' _Rarefied what?'_

_Energon's our fuel – we concentrate it from other energy sources, such as gasoline or electricity. Rarefied energon is a highly purified form of it that makes up our sparks. Decepticons have done experiments on organics in the past to determine the effects of energon on non-Cybertronian life forms – a practice no sane Autobot scientist would condone – but as far as I know no one has studied the effects of rarefied energon on an organic. Mostly because rarefied energon is a precious commodity, and no one wants to use it frivolously._

Great. So he was a living lab animal now. If he got some kind of weird alien cancer from this whole experience, he wondered if he could sue the Autobots for his medical bills. Or would they get off on diplomatic immunity or something? He had no clue.

Gandalf whined, and Conrad realized he'd been standing there with the treat box, staring blankly into space while Ratchet talked. Shaking his head, he pulled out a dog cookie and held it out for Gandalf. He took it eagerly, chewing with relish.

 _This is just so confusing,_ Ratchet went on, and Conrad got the feeling he was talking more to himself than to his host now. _Why the Decepticons too? The Autobots I can kind of understand, but the Decepticons? They weren't ever part of the deal…_

' _Part of what deal?'_

_What… never mind. Just thinking out loud._

Conrad wanted to push him for an answer, but Gandalf nudged against his hand, and Shrapnel took advantage of the contact to speak up again.

_That was good stuff. Got more-more?_

' _You guys can taste?'_ Conrad offered him another biscuit before rubbing behind his ears again.

_Of course we can taste-taste! Took some effort to do it in this body, but worth it-worth it. Gotta get the mutt to try the electronics again, delicious-delicious…_

_You can control your host?_ asked Ratchet, sounding a little interested but mostly appalled.

_Sure. Just takes concentration and effort-effort. Helps that the dog ain't too bright-bright…_

' _Don't call my dog stupid,'_ Conrad snapped. _'And if you make him chew on my game controllers again I'll…'_ How could he even punish Shrapnel without hurting Gandalf in the process? _'Just stay away from my game controllers.'_

 _All right, fine,_ Shrapnel grumbled. _But get this poor dog something more interesting to eat sometimes-sometimes. That dry junk gets old-old._

' _Deal.'_ He'd stop by WinCo and get a few cans of Alpo tomorrow. Canned dog food wasn't exactly cheap, but it beat having his controllers destroyed.

Ratchet, for his part, seemed more unsettled than ever. _So it IS possible for a spark to take control of the host body. I had no idea…_

' _Don't get ANY ideas, Ratch. I'm not going to be your personal zombie or anything.'_

 _I have no intention of hijacking your body,_ Ratchet insisted. _But it's a disturbing development all the same. Especially given the OTHER piece of information we learned tonight._

' _About the Decepticons…'_ A cold chill passed through his body at that thought. Knowing that there were people out there infected with Decepticon sparks against their wills was bad enough, but if those Decepticon sparks were able to fully possess their hosts… that was practically the plot for a horror movie right there. How many people were affected by this… and what exactly would the Decepticons do with this new ability? Hell, what if one of them happened to land in the body of someone in a position of power, like a politician or a high-ranking military officer? Or even just in the body of someone who wouldn't particularly mind sharing bodies with a Decepticon, such as a terrorist or a serial killer?

' _This is a nightmare,'_ he concluded.

_Exactly. I shudder to think what some of those Decepticons are doing right now. And the worst part is the NOT knowing…_

' _Ratch, calm down. We can't do anything about it until we find them.'_

_Some of the most dangerous mechs in our recorded history are on the loose in your hometown and you're telling me to calm down?_

Well, when he put it that way, that was a bit more worrisome. _'Look, it's late. I have the day off tomorrow, and we can do a more thorough search in the morning. See if we can find Crazy Jon and that girl from the store. Maybe we'll find more of your buddies.'_

 _If you find Skywarp, give him a good punch in the jaw from me-from me,_ Shrapnel put in. _Slagger owes me five cubes-cubes._

' _Not if he ends up in some poor little retired lady,'_ Conrad retorted. _'Or a cop. Maybe if he ends up in Zack, we can talk about jaw-punching.'_

That seemed to satisfy Shrapnel, though if he had anything else to say, it went unheard as Gandalf trudged off to go lay on the couch again.

Conrad, for his part, decided to forego a night of video gaming and head straight to bed. If they were going to be traipsing all over Provo tomorrow, he was going to need his sleep. He just hoped that they were able to make some headway tomorrow… and that whoever had the rotten luck to end up with a Decepticon spark, that they were okay and not being harassed or tormented unduly.

* * *

There were Autobots who liked to spread rumors that Megatron never slept, that he possessed an uncanny ability to function optimally even without nightly defrags and recharges. That wasn't precisely true – he might be one of the more powerful Decepticons, but he still had his basic requirements. He simply conditioned himself to operate on fewer hours of recharge than other mechs, and to sleep as lightly as possible to eliminate the risk of being murdered in his nightly defrag cycle. It had taken time, but it had been worth it, and more than one Autobot assassin and Decepticon usurper had learned the hard and painful way that attacking him in his sleep was a very bad idea.

That ability seemed to hold true even outside his mechanical body. For he found himself fully awake and aware even as his human host slept… and ready to begin again.

Megatron waited a bit, biding his time, ensuring his host was deeply enough asleep that he could do what needed to be done. This was a most unusual situation, not to mention highly undesirable – waking up to find himself trapped in a body of flesh had been his ultimate nightmare, and he had spent a good hour raving in anger and horror, terrifying his host in the process. If this was Unicron's idea of fulfilling his end of the bargain, then the being had a sick sense of humor. He'd been promised a new body, a chance at survival… and upon agreeing he'd promptly been ejected from his chassis, watching in shock and rage as another intelligence had taken over his old body.

The thought of that pretender, Galvatron, taking his hard-built Decepticon Empire and running it into the ground was enough to make his oil curdle, if he still had oil. And as soon as he was in a position to fight back, he was going to take the usurper's head off at the shoulders and mount it on his wall. So long as his spark still burned, he was NOT going to give up his position to anyone, least of all the one who had stolen his body.

 _One step at a time,_ he reminded himself. He had much to do if he was going to regain his life. His situation was bleak, yes, but not entirely hopeless. And it wasn't as if he wasn't used to working against impossible odds and with substandard resources. This would be challenging to say the very least, but it could be done.

His host's eyes were still closed, blocking off his sight. He gathered his mental strength and _pushed,_ forcing the organic body to bow to his will. This had proven a futile exercise while his host was awake – the human was stubborn, and had refused to grant him access to more than the basic senses. But now, with the wretched creature's consciousness out of commission for a few precious hours…

Sight returned – a dim bedroom, with the only light being a combination of moonlight and streetlight spilling in through the window and across the bed. Satisfaction flooded him, but he pushed it aside for now. Compared to operating the rest of the body, opening and shutting the eyelids was sparkling's play. From here on out, things would get much harder.

Slowly, he exerted his control to more of the human's body, focusing on the limbs and seeing what could be moved. In a way, a human body's construction wasn't much different from a Cybertronian's – there was still a system of joints, of hinges and cables and pistons that powered the body and allowed it to move. Said systems were simply made of inferior materials, of messy flesh and bone and tendon rather than the strength and cleanliness of metal. Having to power this disgusting collection of wet meat and tissue in place of his original chassis was a sickening thought, but if it was all he had to work with… then so be it.

With considerable effort, he was able to raise one arm in front of his line of sight. Concentrating, he was able to clench the hand into a fist, then relax it. Control of the individual fingers was more difficult, and after a few frustrating minutes he gave up. He would need to learn that particular skill eventually, but for now he had other things on his mind.

Sitting up was its own challenge – the human spinal array was a complex collection of tendon and small bones, and this particular one felt stiff and painful as he forced it to work. Primus below, if he was going to end up with a human body, he could have at least gotten one in its prime, instead of one so obviously used as this one.

"Honey?"

Megatron froze, his concentration breaking, and the body nearly collapsed back onto the bed before he regained control. Fraggit… all this motion had awakened his host's mate. She was stirring beside him, rolling over beneath the blankets, voice blurred with sleep.

"Honey, you okay?" she repeated. "What are you doing up?"

He hadn't intended to practice speaking in this body yet, but it looked as if it were time for a crash course. That was far easier said than done. Humans didn't have simple vocalizers, and so had to make do with a cumbersome system of throat membranes, tongue, and lips. His first attempt at sound came out a weird croak of noise that sounded sick even to his own audials… ears.

"Back bothering you again?"

He forced another sound out, trying to make it sound affirmative.

"Take your meds and go back to sleep," the female murmured, and promptly rolled over and fell back asleep.

Megatron waited until he was sure she wouldn't wake up again before resuming his efforts. Something else he was going to have to learn in this body – proper speech. Perhaps he would need to pay better attention while the human was awake, and figure out just what it took to operate this mess of a vocal system. Primus, why did biological creatures have to do everything the hard way?

Finally, he managed to get his host's body to stand beside the bed, shaking but thankfully not collapsing. Good… he'd gotten this far last night. It was time to see what else he was capable of. Concentrating all his attention on one leg, he forced it forward a step.

It was like learning to walk all over again, as if he'd just been upgraded and was getting used to a new body. Which wasn't so far off the mark, he supposed, except this was a definite downgrade from his former chassis. It took all his strength to focus on moving forward, to move first one leg, then the other, all the while trying to maintain his balance and keep his host upright.

It seemed that the further he walked, though, the easier the action became, and by the time he reached the main room of the house he felt as if he had full control over the host's legs. He hadn't enough control over the facial muscles yet to grin, but he couldn't help basking in satisfaction as he turned the body around and guided it back to the bedroom. Excellent… this got easier with practice. Given time, he would soon have complete control over this clumsy organic body.

And at the moment, all he had was time. He could afford to be patient.

He turned the body around, intent on heading back to the bedroom… and found someone blocking his path. A little girl stood in the hallway, wearing a simple pink outfit with some sort of cartoon character printed on the front, holding a stuffed pony by the tail in one hand and a plastic cup in the other. She looked up at him nervously, as if expecting some sort of scolding.

"I'm gonna go back to bed, Daddy," she said quickly. "Promise. I just needed a glass of water…"

Megatron could care less about what the organic spawn was doing wandering the house at this hour. He didn't bother to answer her – he still couldn't get anything more coherent than a grunt out of his host's throat anyhow – but simply moved the body forward, holding a hand out to push her down the hall and toward her room. She misinterpreted the gesture and, tucking the pony under her other arm, she grabbed his hand and walked alongside him, keeping up with his slow but steady shuffle as they walked down the hall together.

Amazing, he thought, how fragile these young organics were… even in a body far weaker than his former chassis, he could feel the delicate bones of her hand through the skin. Small wonder the flesh creatures were so protective of their young. Perhaps the spawn could be an asset for him, an advantage over his host should the man rebel or try to reassert his control. It would be such a shame if something were to happen to his offspring, wouldn't it? Especially if one simple action could prevent it…

He slowly made his way back to the bedroom, down the hall and past doorways that he knew led to the bedrooms of his host's offspring. Through the door of one room he could hear a teenage boy snoring loudly, sounding rather amusingly like Motormaster's engine when the Stunticon was ticked off. In another, the youngest child slept silently – a mercy, given that it had been the loudest and most demanding of the four while awake, despite being the smallest. The third bedroom was shared by two girls, and he stopped and nudged the spawn, a silent order for her to go in.

The child released his host's hand, and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. "Night Daddy. Love you." And she ducked into the bedroom.

Megatron chuckled, though the sound came from the man's throat as a mere clicking of the vocal cords. How innocent. How blissfully unaware. The entire pack of creatures had no idea who they harbored in their midst – even his host merely thought of him as a stress-induced delusion. These miserable flesh germs wouldn't know what was coming to them until it was too late to stop it.

The female barely stirred as he let his host fall back into bed, relinquishing his hold on the body. He had made considerable progress tonight. Soon, very soon, he would have total control of his organic host.

And from there, he would move on to the next step – regaining control of the Decepticons, and taking back what was rightfully his. Galvatron and Starscream would both pay. He swore it.


	6. Chapter 6

_So this is Hell._

Thundercracker had no idea why he was thinking this – Cybertronian theology didn't exactly have an equivalent to the humans' concept of Hell. It was generally accepted that when a Cybertronian died, their spark left this plane of existence to join the Well of All Sparks, regardless of whether or not they behaved themselves in this life. Fear of eternal damnation didn't drive them to follow the Covenant of Primus or the laws and tenants of their kind, but rather, desire to make this temporal life better for themselves and others.

So why he'd blacked out shortly after being tossed out of Astrotrain, only to wake up in a situation that could only be described as some sort of bizarre purgatory, he could only speculate.

Chatter and laughter flowed all around him like waves, an unintelligible babble that left him floundering helplessly anytime he tried to understand it. Primus below, why did these hairless monkeys have so many languages? And if he had to end up in a human body, why not one that at least spoke the primary language of their kind? Most Cybertronians knew English, and he'd pretty much assumed that it would be the only language he'd have to learn on this rock. Perhaps that had been shortsighted of him… but then, they hadn't been planning on staying on Earth.

He briefly considered disconnecting himself from his host's sense of hearing – anything pertinent, he figured, could be gleaned from her mental and emotional state. But in the end, he remained connected. There was always the off chance that someone speaking the primary language of these beings would walk in, or that he'd be able to pick up a word or two of the language. Both chances seemed fairly slim, but maybe he'd get lucky.

As far as he could tell, this was some sort of family gathering – relatives coming together to celebrate some sort of occasion. His host seemed to recognize everyone as kin, at least, though her feelings toward them varied. Some she looked on with some degree of fondness, while others generated annoyance or even outright hostility. The one she seemed closest to was an elderly woman with pale silver hair, perhaps a grand-creator, and who she was frequently sitting by and doting on.

 _Funny… never thought of these creatures as having family units,_ Thundercracker noted. Then again, it wasn't as if he'd spent a lot of time socializing with the creatures – the most interaction he usually had with them was holding one of the Autobots' pets hostage, or watching them run away screaming during a firefight. He'd never thought he'd have to interact with them on a personal basis… and he'd certainly never dreamed he'd end up _stuck_ in one.

Maybe this was his personal purgatory, then, his punishment for his crimes against the human species. Perhaps Primus had sentenced him to being trapped in a flesh creature as penance of a sort, to make him understand these beings better before he was allowed to rejoin the Well. It seemed a rather sadistic punishment from a deity who normally didn't interfere in Cybertronian affairs… but then, he supposed it was stupidity to try to predict a god's actions.

His host said something to the old woman – something along the lines of "I'll be right back," he guessed – and stood, preparing to walk off. She barely made it two steps from her chair before disaster struck.

Thundercracker couldn't suppress a mental shout of surprise as both he and the human were seized with a sudden bout of vertigo. Pain shot through their shared skull, and their combined vision went dim and fuzzy. Instinctively he found himself trying to correct their balance, but that just resulted in her limbs flailing wildly as she fell to the ground.

The old woman screamed, and that brought several other family members crowding around his host, talking in frantic tones as they tried to help her to her feet. She wobbled unsteadily and promptly sat back down, dizzy and nauseous, and Thundercracker desperately hoped she wouldn't get sick on him.

 _I'm going to guess that wasn't supposed to happen._ It certainly hadn't happened in the few days he'd been sharing a body with this human. Surely if she was prone to these sorts of mechanical failures – which probably wasn't the right term, but whatever – she would have suffered one before now. And judging by everyone's reaction to this sudden blackout, this sort of thing wasn't normal.

 _Fraggit, just don't die on me,_ he thought darkly. _That's all I need, to be stuck in a dead body… unless that's part of my punishment too, in which case frag you, Primus…_

* * *

Conrad tightened the strap of his bike helmet one more notch, then patted the bag hanging from his handlebars that contained the checklist of names. "All right, I think we're ready."

 _First order of business is to see if we can find Jon again,_ Ratchet informed him, all business now that they were finally doing this. _So long as we have a definite idea of who's got a Cybertronian inside them, we might as well take advantage of it._

' _What about if we can't find him, or we do find him and figure out who's inside him? What then?'_

_Ride around, cover as much of the city as we can. I'll alert you if it feels like we're getting close to one. Seeing as we've got at least four known sparks in this city, I'm going to hazard a guess most of them, if not all, are going to be in this area._

Conrad nodded and swung a leg over his bike, seating himself. _'Not how I pictured spending my day off, but I guess it beats staying home and doing housework.'_

_Your mom didn't seem too happy that you were going to be gone today._

' _Sunday's generally the one day we're both together, and she hates it when something takes away from that. Between this and band practice tonight, she's pretty annoyed about it. But ah well, there's next week.'_

Ratchet sighed. _I just hope by next week we've got this all resolved. This can't be pleasant for anyone involved._

' _Got that right. No offense.'_

_None taken._

The route to the game store was so familiar Conrad could have pedaled it in his sleep. He braked the bike and chained it up at its usual spot behind the store, then headed for Crazy Jon's usual sleeping place by the Dumpster. He saw the makeshift pad of flattened trash bags that marked Jon's patch of asphalt, as well as some indecipherable graffiti etched into the paint, but beyond that there was no trace of him.

' _Dammit, I was hoping that one would be easy at least.'_

_Where else does he have to go?_

' _Sometimes he stays at the homeless shelter, but they just threw him out recently for causing a disturbance, so I dunno if he'd go back there. Beyond that, I'm not sure where he'd be. Unless Mr. Jakobson chased him off for good… didn't think he'd ever do that.'_

_We'll keep an optic out anyhow. If he doesn't have a vehicle or money for transportation, I doubt he's going to go far…_

Something jabbed into his ankle, and he cursed and jumped to the side in an effort to avoid the feathery projectile gunning for his feet. Howard was in a fouler mood than usual today, it seemed – he hissed and squawked angrily, beating his single wing and doing all in his power to drive the intruder away. Conrad backed away, trying to shoo him off, but he kept right on attacking.

"Dude, what's your problem?" he snapped. "Bug off!"

The duck gave an honest-to-goodness growl and grabbed his sock in his beak, tugging at it as if trying to rip it off his foot by force. Conrad drew his foot back – he wasn't going to kick Howard, but maybe just seeing a foot come his way would make him back down…

 _No, don't chase it off!_ Ratchet insisted.

' _What, you like having our feet pecked to shreds?'_

_There's someone in there! In the bird!_

Conrad stared down at Howard, who was now waddling in frantic circles around him and vocally protesting his presence. The duck was a host. There was an Autobot or Decepticon in the duck. The thought was so utterly ridiculous, even after everything he'd been through in the past couple of days, that he cracked up laughing.

_What's so funny?_

"It's a duckformer!" Conrad cackled. "Robots with feathers!"

The feeling he got from Ratchet could best be described as a mental eye roll. _Glad someone's getting a kick out of our situation. See if you can grab him._

Conrad nodded, still laughing too hard to say anything coherent, and bent down to make a grab for the duck. Howard probably could have made a run for it, but he was so insistent on pecking and biting at the intruder's feet that he missed the hands reaching down to scoop him up. He squawked indignantly and kicked his webbed feet, trying to wriggle loose, but Conrad held him fast.

"Got him!"

 _Excellent. This has got to be the strangest thing I've ever done, but…_ Ratchet directed his thoughts directly at the duck now. _This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If anyone is in there, please respond._

 _Ratchet!_ The duck didn't stop struggling, but the voice coming from it sounded relieved. _Thank Primus, I'm not the only one! Though of course, you're lucky enough to get an actual human body, I'm stuck with this… thing._

 _It's good to hear your voice for once, Huffer,_ Ratchet replied, relief coloring his own voice. _Listen – a number of Autobots and Decepticons have ended up in organic bodies, and we're trying to track them all down._

_So we're not the only ones? Wheeljack and Windcharger could still be alive?_

_As well as Optimus, Prowl, Ironhide, and all the others._ He hesitated, then continued with a somewhat resigned air. _Unfortunately, Decepticons are included in that number – we've come across Shrapnel, and it's possible the other Decepticons, and even Megatron himself, now inhabit organic bodies as well._

_Oh joy. Fraggin' Cons never stay dead, do they? Think they did this to us? Stuck us in nasty flesh bodies so we're out of the way when the invasion of Earth hits?_

' _This guy's a real Eeyore, isn't he?'_ Conrad cut in. _'And that's my nasty flesh body you're talking about.'_

Huffer sputtered. _What… who…_

 _Huffer, this is Conrad Hawkins, my host,_ Ratchet introduced. _He's going to be helping us. Conrad, this is Huffer, one of our minibot warriors among the Autobots._

' _Cool. What's he turn into?'_

 _Under normal circumstances, a truck. But as you can see, these aren't normal circumstances._ He turned his attention back to Huffer. _To answer your question, no, I don't think the Decepticons did this. Why would they do it to themselves, for one thing? And why shove our sparks into organic bodies when just shooting us would be so much easier?_

 _Point, but it still doesn't answer how…_ began Huffer.

 _Never mind the 'how,' and let's focus on the 'what now,'_ Ratchet interrupted. _You haven't seen or felt anything weird in the past few days, have you?_

_I'm stuck in a bird! Everything feels weird!_

_I'm talking about weird energy readings. It'd be a sense of something being… off… about someone who went past you. Like walking past a stack of energon cubes and feeling the radiation they give off._

Huffer considered that, and the duck finally stopped struggling and lay in Conrad's arms with a resigned look on its beaked face. _There was a homeless guy… and some girl, but the duck chased her off…_

Conrad focused on petting Howard and keeping him calm, though privately he thought Huffer wasn't going to be a lot of help. Those were people they already knew about…

_There was a young one too – a kid. Came into the store with what I assumed was a parental unit. He seemed to be talking to himself, though I guess he could have been talking to a Cybertronian._

_A child… Primus, I hope that kid didn't end up with a Decepticon in his head. Anything else?_

_Yeah… a woman. Older. Not here, but by the pond where this fraggin' bird likes to go swimming every day. She lives in a tent, conducts some kind of business there._

' _Must be in the park nearby,'_ Conrad realized. _'Homeless people camp out there sometimes. Maybe we'll find Crazy Jon there too.'_

 _It's worth a shot,_ Ratchet confessed. _Huffer, does your host move around much, or do you think you can convince him to stay in this area?_

 _What am I, the Duck Whisperer?_ Huffer demanded. _This crazy bird doesn't listen to a word I say._

' _Howard's lived here ever since I started working here,'_ Conrad pointed out. _'It's his turf. I doubt he's going to leave here.'_

_I hate having to depend on the whim of an animal, but it sounds like we don't have much of a choice. Huffer, we'll come back for you, I promise. For now, we have to round up as many of the others as we can._

_Just don't forget about me, all right? Everyone forgets about me… its like no one likes me…_

_That's not true and you know it._ Ratchet didn't sound all that convinced about his own statement, but it seemed to be enough to mollify Huffer for a moment. _We'll stay in touch._

Conrad set Howard down, and the duck shook himself before giving the young man an indignant look. Then he waddled off to sit in a flower bed and preen his mussed feathers.

 _Primus, it's probably a mercy he ended up in an animal,_ Ratchet groaned. _He probably would have driven an actual human to self-harm with his constant whining._

' _What's his problem anyhow?'_

_Beats me. He's always been like that._

Conrad pulled the notebook out of his bag and marked off Huffer's name, quickly jotting "Howard the duck" next to it. One down, at least… and a couple dozen to go. This was going to be a long day…

Howard began kicking up a fuss again, flapping his wing and rasping loudly. At the same time Ratchet seemed to perk up in his corner of Conrad's brain, excitement prickling through their shared nervous system.

_Someone's coming… someone with a spark!_

Conrad jammed the notebook back into his bag and looked around. _'Where?'_

_Over there… heading for the entrance to the store…_

Conrad couldn't suppress a groan. It was the prom queen chick again, knocking on the door to Angry Duck Games and peering inside. Evidently the locked door, dimmed lights, and CLOSED sign weren't enough to clue her in that the store wasn't open for business today. Finally she huffed a sigh and walked off, pulling out her phone as she went.

_After her!_

Conrad jogged a few steps after the girl, then slowed down as realization hit. _'Do you realize how creepy this looks? A twenty-year-old guy chasing a high-schooler?'_

_I don't care how creepy it looks, after her! We can't let her get away, there's one of our own in there!_

' _She's going to think I'm a stalker!'_

_You are, just not the kind that means her ill. Now come ON!_

Conrad had turned to head back for his bike, but suddenly he felt his entire body wrench around of its own accord. _'Hey!'_

_Whoa… I didn't know I could do that._

' _You promised you wouldn't hijack my body!'_

_That was totally involuntary, I swear!_

' _All right, fine, I'll go after her. Just leave my body alone.'_ And Conrad bolted after the girl, who was almost to the end of the block by now. Hopefully she wasn't packing mace or anything…

The girl heard him coming and turned to face him, a look of confusion bordering on panic on her face. Quickly Conrad scrambled for some sort of excuse for chasing after her. Maybe he could claim she dropped something? Belatedly he thought he should have actually brought something and claimed she'd dropped it – money, maybe – and use that as an excuse. Heck, it'd even give them a chance to make contact and for Ratchet to talk to her current head case.

Even if he'd had an excuse ready, he would never have gotten a chance to use it – before he could get more than a "Hey" out she brought her foot up to give him a vicious kick in the worst possible place.

By the time the pain had faded enough for him to be aware of his surroundings again, the girl was gone. He was lying on the sidewalk, body curled up in an effort to protect himself. Pedestrians stared down at him and gave him a wide berth, and one even held up her phone and snapped a picture. Great, he was going to end up on someone's Facebook now.

 _Great… Primus… below…_ Ratchet groaned. _Are we dying?_

' _No… just feels like it.'_ He pushed himself to his feet, still wincing a bit in pain. _'I take it you've never been kicked there before.'_

 _I'm a Cybertronian, I don't have a 'there,'_ Ratchet retorted. _We don't reproduce like you organics do. But that's a discussion for another time. She got away, didn't she?_

' _Yeah. Told you this wasn't a smart idea.'_

_I'm sorry… I really am. For this AND for taking control of your body. I promise I'll be more careful in the future._

The Autobot sounded genuinely contrite, and Conrad found he couldn't be too upset. It wasn't like Ratchet had deliberately set out to hurt him or anything. Maybe he was letting his eagerness to find his friends take over, but then again, he guessed he couldn't blame him for that.

 _I got the briefest sense of another presence out of her, though,_ Ratchet noted. _Not nearly enough to determine who it was, but there's someone in there all right._

' _I'm not chasing her down again. Next time she might actually call the cops on me.'_

_She's got to come back to your store sometime, I'm sure. Even if it's because she didn't learn her lesson the first time and wants another blasted movie. For now, though, let's keep going. Can you still ride, or are we going to have to walk from here?_

' _Dude, I'm not mortally wounded or anything. She kicked me, she didn't shoot me.'_ Though the thought of getting back on his bike made him flinch. _'Still, maybe we'd better walk for a bit.'_

_Let's try another angle. That woman in the park that Huffer mentioned… if she's still there, maybe we can figure out if she's another host._

Conrad nodded, though privately he just hoped that this woman would be easier to deal with than the prom queen. Maybe he'd have to start wearing an athletic cup while they did their search.

* * *

True to Huffer's word, a tent stood in the park just a block away from the game store. But it didn't appear to belong to a homeless woman. It was a rich violet-blue in color, dotted with silver starbursts that seemed to form rough approximations of various constellations. A banner was stretched over the entrance, bearing an image of a single eye and ornate silver-gilded letters declaring "Madame Sapphique, Medium and Psychic – Past Life Regression, Hypnosis, Palm and Tarot Readings."

 _What in the…_ Ratchet began. This hadn't been at all what he was expecting… though judging by the twinge of annoyance coming from his human companion's mind, Conrad recognized what was going on.

' _Oh geez, this chick… Good thing we caught her before the cops did.'_

_She's not a fugitive, is she?_

' _No, just some random nutcase making a quick buck from people's stupidity. She parks her tent wherever there's room and does her business for a few days until she gets run off for not having a permit – reading fortunes and making quack predictions of the future. This isn't the first time she's set up shop here, though the cops told her if it happened again she'd be fined.'_

 _I see._ Some sort of con artist passing themselves off as a psychic, then. Genuine psychics and telepaths weren't unheard of back on Cybertron, but even on his homeworld there had been the occasional fraud boasting about having extraordinary powers to see the future or communicate with the Well. More than one hapless mech had been scammed of precious credits by such hucksters, while most mechs with genuine abilities had instead put themselves to good use by offering their services to the Prime… or to Megatron, if their loyalties had swung that way.

' _So I guess we go in?'_

_Huh? Sorry, just thinking… is she harmless?_

' _Eh, kinda loony, but she's harmless.'_

_Then let's do this._

Conrad took a step forward… then stumbled. Ratchet winced as their body was struck by a wave of dizziness, vision fuzzing and sense of balance scrambled. He almost tried taking control of the body for himself in an effort to keep Conrad's balance, but stopped himself at the last minute. At this point he could do more harm than good, he realized.

The dizzy spell passed, and Conrad leaned against a tree as he struggled not to be sick. "What… the hell… was that?"

_I don't know… you don't get these often, do you?_

' _Actually, this is the first time.'_ He pushed himself upright, a bit wobbly on his feet. _'Ugh… I think I'm gonna throw up…'_

_Think this is a reaction to that kick?_

' _I'm not THAT much of a wimp.'_ Once his sense of balance had returned, he took a tentative step forward. _'Whatever it was, it's gone now.'_

Ratchet frowned inwardly. Something funny was going on here… well, funnier, seeing as this whole situation was bizarre to begin with. Conrad seemed willing to brush it off as a one-time event, but the medic wasn't so sure…

A curtain of iridescent fabric – the door to the tent, Ratchet realized – parted, and a middle-aged woman smiled out at them. "Come on in! Madame Sapphique will see you now."

' _This better be worth it,'_ Conrad thought, and with a deep breath to steel himself he stepped inside.

The tent somehow seemed larger on the inside than it did on the outside, the inner walls lined with tan-gold fabric and marked with symbols Ratchet couldn't make head or tail out of. The floor was covered with a layer of the same sort of fabric that made up the exterior of the tent, and in the center of the tent's single room were two chairs and a table draped in black velvet. Ratchet half-expected to see a crystal ball sitting in the middle of the table, but there was no sign of such an artifact. Instead a deck of cards, a thick leather-bound book with an owl embossed on the cover, and an incense burner sat on one side of the table, while a hand-lettered sign reading "All sales final – cash or check only" occupied the other side. The interior of the tent was dimly lit by an electric lantern hanging from the ceiling, and a strange smell – smoky and herbal – filled the air.

Madame Sapphique gestured toward a chair, indicating Conrad could sit, before seating herself on the opposite side of the table. Ratchet judged her to be in her late fifties, though given that he was a poor judge of human age he could have been off by about ten years in either direction. Her eyes were heavily shadowed in violet, her lashes either false or exaggerated with makeup, and her gray-brown hair was mostly confined by a purple scarf wrapped around her head and tied off behind. An emerald-green shawl covered most of her upper body, and an assortment of bracelets jangled on her wrists. She had obviously put some effort into her appearance, trying to make herself look mystic and otherworldly, but the effect came off as somewhat cartoonish. The fact that she was clearly wearing blue jeans under the shawl didn't exactly help matters.

"I don't get enough young people in here," she said, offering a pleasant smile. "It's good to see that this generation still holds some interest in the spiritual world."

"Um… right." Conrad shifted in his chair, and Ratchet sensed that he was distinctly uncomfortable.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "I can dose the incense burner if it's bothering you. Client comfort is my priority."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Conrad assured her quickly. "Just… never had my fortune told before."

She laughed, though it was more friendly than mocking. "In that case may I suggest a tarot reading? I find that's the best way to start with someone who's never visited a seer before." She took the deck of cards and set it before her. "It's a ten-dollar fee."

"Uh…" Conrad opened his mouth – to tell her he wasn't here for a reading, Ratchet guessed – but he caught a burst of excitement from the human as something occurred to him, and he shifted gears. "What about a palm reading?"

_Palm reading?_

' _You're supposed to be able to tell your future from the lines in your hand. I think it's bogus, but if it means she has to hold my hand…'_

_Oh! Brilliant, Conrad. I wouldn't have thought of that myself._

"Palm reading? I could add that in for another five dollars." She set the cards aside and reached out to take his wrist. "It's not as accurate as the tarot, but it can provide some vital insight…"

Ratchet didn't wait for her to begin – he sent a direct line of thought through Conrad's body and into her. _This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If there's a Cybertronian in there, please respond._

Madame Sapphique froze, eyes wide. Before she could react any further, though, another voice responded, this one cold and refined.

_So… there is another._

Had he still possessed control of a body, Ratchet would have shivered at that tone. _Shockwave…_

' _Who?'_ Conrad asked. _'That's not a name on our list. I've never even heard it before.'_

 _I'd be surprised if you had,_ Ratchet replied. _Shockwave's one of Megatron's most notorious lackeys – science officer, general, and Guardian of Cybertron in the warlord's absence. He almost never fought on the front lines, but he's still caused us no end of grief over the vorns._

 _A rather simplistic way of putting it,_ Shockwave replied, a note of disgust in his voice. _But… yes. I was appointed to be Cybertron's Guardian in Megatron's absence, safeguarding the planet for Megatron's eventual return to power. And my contributions to the Decepticon cause as a scientist and warrior have been quite invaluable._

' _And you're so modest, too.'_

 _Conrad, this is no time to get cheeky!_ Ratchet snapped.

Madame Sapphique burst into laughter, a positively beatific smile on her face. "Another one! This is wonderful!"

"How can you think having a giant robot stuck in your head is wonderful?" Conrad muttered.

 _Mech,_ Shockwave corrected. _The proper term is "mech." "Robot" implies a mindless drone._

"Is this really time for an etiquette lesson?" Conrad demanded.

"This must have been quite a shock for you," Madame Sapphiqe told him, patting his hand as if trying to comfort him. "But don't be scared, son. It's wonderful! A spirit has chosen to commune with you. Perhaps he sensed something special about you, a sensitivity to the spirit world…"

 _If we had the ability to choose our human hosts, I would have selected a far more appropriate one,_ Shockwave pointed out, not bothering to hide his disdain toward the "psychic." _And certainly one driven more by logic than by their own delusions. And I highly doubt the Autobots' medic would have settled for such a… substandard host of his own._

"Hey!" yelped Conrad. "Those're fightin' words, Shock!"

 _All right, enough already!_ Ratchet shouted, hoping to cut this off before it descended into a verbal and/or telepathic free-for-all. _Miss… Sapphique… as you might have guessed, my associate Conrad here plays host to a Cybertronian spark. He's come here not to have his fortune read, but to determine who, if anyone, shares your body, and to come to some sort of agreement with them. To do that, Conrad is going to need to maintain physical contact with you. Do you consent to that?_

She nodded, as if she held telepathic communication with a disembodied Autobot on a regular basis. "But of course! It would be quite rude of me to refuse a spirit."

 _Spark,_ Shockwave corrected.

"A spark," she replied, smiling even more broadly. "A beautiful name for it – a spark of life."

 _Glad you think so,_ Ratchet told her. _All right, Shockwave… I don't like you and you don't like me. I think we can safely establish that much. But we're both in the same boat here, metaphorically speaking, and we'll be able to resolve this situation much more easily if we work together than if we butt heads._

 _Agreed,_ Shockwave replied, much to Ratchet's surprise. _As much as I dislike allying myself with lesser creatures, be they Autobots or humans, it would seem I have little choice in this matter._

Ratchet chose to ignore the insult. _I wasn't aware you were dead._

_Much has occurred since the Battle of Autobot City._

_That's a rather ominously vague statement. Care to elaborate?_

A mental sigh, as if Shockwave felt he were addressing a slow learner. _As you might suspect, Starscream took power after Megatron's deactivation… but he was rather spectacularly killed within seconds of his coronation. A mech known as Galvatron seized the throne, and somehow convinced the Decepticons to follow him despite being virtually unknown up until his rise to power. His rule did not last long – within a day, Cybertron fell under attack._

 _By the Autobots?_ Ratchet felt a slight thrill of hope at this news. Had Ultra Magnus taken advantage of the upheaval in the Decepticon hierarchy to retake Cybertron?

_No… by something else._

_Something… else?_ He didn't like the sound of that at all. _What sort of something else?_

_Unknown at this time. I was not able to identify it before my tower was destroyed… and my physical body was presumably destroyed along with it._

Conrad whistled. "Sounds like something major's happening back home for you guys."

_Precisely why I am willing to overlook past grievances and work with Ratchet. If I am to return to Cybertron and find out what menaces our homeworld, I need to be free of this wretched organic body and back in my own… or failing that, in a proper cybernetic form. Am I to understand that you have some understanding of the situation, Autobot?_

Ratchet felt he had a rather good idea of what had happened, but decided that it wouldn't exactly help matters to mention his botched deal with Primus. _It appears that all casualties of the Battle of Autobot City and its aftermath have not passed on to the Well of All Sparks, but have instead been transferred to organic bodies. We can see, hear, and feel what our hosts do, and communicate with our hosts and with other Cybertronians if our hosts happen to be in physical contact, but that's it._

 _I see._ There was a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, as if Shockwave sensed Ratchet was withholding information. But he didn't press further. _What is the plan?_

 _Right now, the plan is to hunt down as many of these transferred sparks as we can. Once we know just where everyone is, we contact Autobot City. Perceptor and Skyfire should be able to figure out a way to repair our old bodies, and transfer us back._ He decided not to point out that it was rather unlikely that the Decepticons would be given their old bodies back – more likely their sparks would be held in a containment unit and sent to a prison block.

 _I have had no other contact with other sparks aside from this encounter,_ Shockwave confessed. _But perhaps my host can keep yours informed if we discover another._

Madame Sappique nodded. "I don't have a phone… but I can always e-mail you."

"I'll write my address down for you before I go," Conrad replied, nodding as well. "Oh… we've found two others, Shrapnel and Huffer, and we think there's a couple other humans who might have sparks in them. The rest we're going to have to hunt down. Hopefully they're close."

_Hopefully indeed… I would suggest you hurry, Ratchet. We don't know how long these organic bodies can support our sparks, and your host is rapidly running out of time._

_Running out of… what are you talking about?_

_Ah yes… I forget, you Autobots frown on conducting experiments upon organics. Then you can be thankful that I took advantage of having organic captives to perform a select number of tests…_

_You're sick, Shockwave! And don't tell me you were insane enough to conduct experiments with rarified energon! That stuff's too precious to waste!_

_Not with raw rarified energon… but the spark energies of captive Autobots proved sufficient for my needs._ He gave a mental chuckle as Ratchet recoiled in horror. _Hate me if you wish, Ratchet, but someone must do that which you find disgraceful in order to further our knowledge._

"All right, Dr. Franken-bot, what are you talking about?" Conrad asked. "What's going to happen to me?"

Shockwave at least had the good grace to stop laughing before addressing the human. _From my experiments I was able to learn that organics are not constructed to handle large doses of many kinds of energy… and rarified energon is one of them. Long-term exposure results in damage to the central nervous system and eventual death._

Horror flooded Conrad's mind, an emotion Ratchet couldn't help but echo. "How… how long have I got left?"

 _Unknown at this time. But organics rarely lasted longer than a quatrex when continuously exposed to rarified energon… and in your case you are carrying said energon directly inside you. My estimates give you approximately two weeks._ He turned his thoughts to Ratchet. _Whatever you have planned… I would suggest you hurry._


	7. Chapter 7

At least today the little voice had the courtesy to wait until Heather was actually on the bus before piping up. Thank goodness for small miracles, she supposed. She rolled her eyes to the graffiti-covered ceiling, awaiting whatever inane question or statement her sudden onset of schizophrenia had for her now.

_I don't get it._

"Get what?" she murmured under her breath, doing her best not to move her lips too much. Then again, she supposed she shouldn't be too worried; it wasn't as if someone talking to themselves was the weirdest thing you'd ever see on a city bus.

 _I don't get what you do,_ the voice replied, sounding honestly confused. _I mean, I get why you do it, I guess, it's your job, but it's a fraggin' weird job if you ask me._

"What's not to get? I'd think it'd be pretty straightforward." She couldn't keep a bitter note out of her voice.

_Well, it ain't for me, lady. And I dunno about the males of your species, but I don't get the appeal of watching someone dance around in their underwear on stage. Thought your kind normally freaked out at stuff like that._

"Believe me, some guys would pay top dollar for that kind of thing." Not that said top dollar went to the dancers – as grasping as her boss was, she was lucky to make it home with her tip money. Wasn't there some kind of law against an employer demanding a share of the tips?

 _Huh…_ The voice seemed to ponder that a moment. _I still don't get it._

She sighed. "To be honest… neither do I sometimes. But it's a job." And she supposed she couldn't complain – she was lucky to have any job, even if this one was rather humiliating. Until something better came along, she'd have to stick it out.

_And why do you ride this thing anyhow? It's cramped and stuffy… don't you have a vehicle?_

"That would imply I could afford one, genius." She gazed out the dingy window. "And I'd rather not walk. This isn't the safest part of town."

_Oh, right… I keep forgetting you squishies don't have built-in weaponry. Sucks._

Heather sighed again, and braced herself as the bus lurched to a stop. The voice – "Skywarp," it had called itself – had summed up her life in one word right there.

"And one more thing," she muttered as she made her way for the exit. "You make me pass out and fall on my ass onstage again and I'll force you to watch Dora with Bailey again."

_I told you, that wasn't me!_

"It never happened before you showed up, and it's happened twice since you started yapping." And hadn't shut up since, she wanted to add. "That can't be a coincidence."

_It's not like I wanna be here either, lady. I got things to do elsewhere, and being stuck in a fleshy's brain wasn't at the top of my bucket list. And it's not me making you fall. Maybe it's those stupid heels you wear. Seriously, and Rumble used to make fun of ME for having high heels…_

Heather snorted in amusement and ducked inside the run-down apartment building, sidestepping a stack of old newspapers as she made her way up the rickety stairs. She supposed it could be worse. The voice was mostly harmless, and while she couldn't always make sense of its ramblings it at least wasn't ordering her to kill people or cut herself anything else psycho. And it seemed oddly endeared by her daughter, constantly gushing about how cute she was, even if it considered her choice in shows a form of torture…

She was halfway up the stairs when she lost her balance, and her foot slipped off the next step and twisted underneath her. Pain flashed up her leg, and her head and stomach lurched sickeningly as a sudden wave of vertigo hit her. Flailing, she tried to right herself, but she only tipped further off-balance, threatening to take a nasty spill down the stairs.

Her arm shot out of its own accord, grabbing the stair railing and gripping with all her strength. Her knees banged painfully against the steps, but at least she was spared a sudden unwanted trip down to the bottom of the staircase. She leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, shaky with the leftover adrenaline buzzing through her.

_The Pit was that?_

"Hell if I know." She pulled herself to her feet, wincing as she gingerly raised her leg. She'd twisted her ankle in the near-fall, and she desperately hoped it wasn't sprained. "That… that wasn't you that time, was it?"

_Frag, no. Well, part of it was, grabbin' the railing… but not the tipsy thing…_

She wasn't even going to ask why it was claiming responsibility for saving her from injury – she hauled herself the rest of the way up the stairs and headed for her apartment, ready to pay the babysitter and get off her feet for the night. That was it. First thing in the morning she was going down to the clinic to get her head checked. And maybe they could refer her to a cheap psychiatrist while she was at it.

* * *

Conrad's mom looked up from the stove and gave him a bewildered look. "Why are you asking?"

"Just curious," he replied, doing his best to look casual. "I mean, I know you work at a family clinic, not a neurology center, but you've gotta know something."

She sighed. "Conner, honestly… I'm starting to get worried about you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, first you passed out in the living room…"

"That only happened once, Mom."

"Then you keep spacing out in the middle of conversations and other things. And now you suddenly want to know about nervous system disorders! How can I not be worried?"

"It's nothing, Mom!" he insisted. "It's for Zack at work. Honest."

She narrowed her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Conner."

"Okay, fine, it's not for Zack. But I just wanted to know what the recovery rate for that kind of thing is."

"That's a question for your father, not me. Give him a call if you really need to know."

He grimaced. "I don't need to know that bad. Anything I can do to help with dinner?"

"Get the salad done while I finish up the spaghetti. Everything else is under control."

He nodded and went to the fridge. Maybe he should have been a little more subtle in asking her about neurological stuff. Ah well, there was Wikipedia and WebMD…

_You didn't tell her that you're running out of time._

' _I thought we were keeping a lid on this.'_ Conrad dumped an armful of various vegetables on the table and pulled out the lettuce. _'And I didn't want to freak her out.'_

_And coming home from work in two weeks to find you dead on the floor would freak her out less?_

' _We're going to find a way to stop it, right?'_ he retorted, sawing at the head of lettuce. _'Find the others and get you out of our bodies before we start keeling over? I don't want to worry her, especially if we're going to find a solution to this.'_

 _Conrad,_ Ratchet said gently, _I know you don't want to worry her, but don't you think it's fair to let her know that you're sick?_

' _I'm not sick! I just have a toxic ghost in my body. And don't tell me you're giving up!'_

 _Of course I'm not giving up! I'm just saying she's got a right to know! You have my permission to tell her what's going on, if that's what you're so worried about._ A slight pause. _And what's this about your father knowing about this sort of thing?_

' _He's a neurosurgeon. Diseases of the central nervous system are his thing. But he hasn't spoken to me in two years, so I doubt he cares if I'm alive or dead.'_

_That's rather harsh. He's your creator, I'm sure he still cares…_

' _He hasn't even bothered to contact me since I told him to quit pressuring me to quit the band. And he ran out on Mom and me to chase some skank instead. If that's caring about me, it's a rather crappy way to care.'_

Ratchet gave a mental sigh. _I still think it would be worth it to contact him. But I'm not going to force the issue. We got a few leads to pursue today, at least… maybe tomorrow we can investigate them in further detail. And stop cutting already, you're trying to saw the cutting board in half._

He glanced down to see the knife had passed through the lettuce already and was starting to carve a groove into the cutting board. He quickly set the knife aside and started tearing up the lettuce by hand. One bright spot to today was that at least they'd discovered two more hosts, and had leads on several more thanks to both Ratchet's senses and Huffer's observations. He just hoped they'd be able to track them all down quickly… though from that point, they'd have to contact the Autobots and find a way to convince them their allies were still alive. And there was the matter of if there was even a way to get the sparks out of the hosts without killing them…

The phone rang at that moment, interrupting his train of thought.

"I'll get it." He wiped his hands on a towel and rushed into the living room to grab it. "Hello?"

"When're you gonna get a cell phone, dude?" Zack demanded. "Be so much easier if I could just text you."

"Can't afford one, dummy," Conrad reminded him. "And not all of us have rich parents who can pay our bills for us."

"Har har," Zack retorted. "You so funny. And believe me, Dad never lets me forget that he's paying most of my expenses. It'll be a bright day when I can finally afford to move out of Alcatraz."

"You make it sound so horrible." He tucked the phone between his cheek and shoulder and headed back to the table to finish the salad. "What's up? You didn't just call to gripe."

"Just calling to tell you I can't come to band practice tonight. Think you can live without your drummer?"

"Probably, we can just go over lyrics or chords tonight. You grounded or something?"

"Actually… I'm at the hospital."

Conrad paused, knife raised over the tomato he'd been chopping. "Hospital? Damn, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, it's the old man. Came home from karate practice to find him passed out in his wheelchair."

Conrad winced. He knew Zack and his father didn't always get along, but he didn't wish any ill on Mr. Bowen. The fact that he was currently hospitalized was a bit disturbing – despite being a paraplegic thanks to a car accident almost a decade ago, he was in pretty good shape health-wise. Had he suddenly had a stroke or something?

"Is he going to be okay?"

"They're running tests on him," Zack replied. "MRI, EKG, KBG, the whole shebang."

"KBG isn't a medical scan, dipwad."

"You know what I mean, nimrod. So far everything's coming up clean, though." A nervous pause. "Don't tell anyone, 'Rad, but… I'm getting scared. He's gotten weird, talking to people that aren't even there and stuff. I think he's starting to lose it."

A sudden burst of realization came from Ratchet's corner of his mind. _Primus below, another one!_

' _What? You think Zack's dad is a host?'_

_It would explain his symptoms. I'd have to get close to him to be sure, but if he's talking to someone Zack can't see and having some of these neurological problems… I'd say the chances of him being a host are pretty good._

That provided some relief – at least they had an idea as to the cause of Mr. Bowen's problems. But it still meant the poor guy didn't have much time left, not unless they moved fast.

"I think he'll be okay," he said at last. "He's probably just worked himself too hard lately. If it makes you feel better, though, I'll talk to my mom about it, all right?"

"Thanks, 'Rad," Zack replied, the tension draining from his voice. "You're the best co-worker-slash-band-leader ever."

"I'm the only co-worker-slash-band-leader you know, dip," he retorted. "You take care, all right? Keep me posted."

"Will do. See you at work tomorrow. Old man's insisting I go even with all this crap happening."

"You take care of yourself." He hung up and set the phone aside.

"Something wrong?" Mom asked, frowning worriedly.

"Zack's dad's in the hospital. He can't make it to practice tonight."

"Oh no… what's wrong?"

Before he could answer, the phone rang again.

"One sec." He picked it up and answered it. "Hello?"

"Hey, 'Rad."

"Hey Fielding. What's shakin'?"

"Nothing good. Listen, I hate to do this to you guys, but I'm not going to be able to make it tonight."

"Dad found out you were going to band practice tonight and flipped out?"

"No… it's my little brother. He's in the hospital."

He felt his stomach clench at that. "Which one?"

"The youngest, Tanner. He passed out and started throwing up tonight. My parents are at the ER with him right now, and the rest of us are waiting to hear how he's doing."

"Oh geez… I hope he's all right."

"I hope so too. Mom thinks he's been having micro-seizures lately – he'll just stop talking in the middle of a conversation and space out. And now this… I'm just hoping it's epilepsy and not a brain tumor or something."

Conrad blinked. _'Ratchet…'_

_I know… sounds like this is the kid Huffer was talking about. Unless two of them ended up in children, but for now we'll assume this is the one we're looking for. Poor kid…_

"Conrad, you there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry Fielding, got distracted."

"Just said Mom just texted me. He's on his way home. The doctors have him scheduled for more tests tomorrow." He sighed. "You understand, right?"

"Totally, Field. Conrad can't make it anyhow, so maybe we'd better just call it off for tonight. I'll call Angie and let her know."

"All right. Sorry to do this to you guys."

"Hey, don't feel guilty. Just keep me posted. Take care."

"You too."

Conrad thumbed the phone off. "Fielding can't make it either. We're gonna have to cancel."

"Oh, that's too bad," Mom replied, looking over from the sink where she was draining the pasta. "Well, maybe that means we can have a family night tonight. We could watch the next episode of that show you like."

" _Game of Thrones?_ I thought you hated it."

"It's growing on me. But remember our deal."

"Yes, Mom," he said with a slight chuckle. The deal had been that for every episode of _Game of Thrones_ Conrad made his mom watch, he had to watch an episode of her favorite show, _Supernatural._ Privately he thought she only watched that show because she had a crush on the Winchesters... and if he really did have only a couple weeks left, better to spend it doing things with his mom, even if it was just watching their favorite shows together…

He mentally kicked himself. No, he wasn't going to die in two weeks. He and Ratchet were going to fix this, no matter what it took.

The phone went off a third time.

"Grand Central Station," Conrad muttered, then answered. "Hello?"

"'Rad?" The voice on the other end was quiet and high with fright.

"Angie?" He dropped the knife and stood, ready to bolt for the door and book it to her house. "Angie, you okay?"

"I can't come tonight," she said quickly. "Start practice without me. Sorry."

"Angie, what's wrong?"

"Nothing, I just can't make it. Sorry."

"Angie," he began, but she hung up.

 _Well, that's ominous,_ Ratchet noted darkly.

"Mom, I've gotta go," Conrad said abruptly, and took off for the garage.

"Conner!" she exclaimed in dismay. "What about dinner?"

"Something's wrong with Angie!" he shouted back, flinging the garage door open and dragging his bike out. "I dunno what, but she sounded freaked out on the phone. I need to go make sure she's okay."

"Isn't that a job for the police? Conrad!"

He didn't bother to answer her, simply hauled the bike outside and started pedaling away. Thank God it was summer and still relatively light outside – in his haste he'd forgotten his helmet and reflector vest. No time to go back for them now.

 _Your mom has a point,_ Ratchet pointed out. _If she's truly in danger, the police would be better suited…_

' _I can't just sit on my ass and trust the cops to take care of it! What if it's something to do with her parents? The cops don't always take abuse cases seriously.'_ He had no idea if it could still be called child abuse if the child in question was over eighteen, but that seemed merely a technicality at this point. And Angela's parents were not only short-tempered but notorious control freaks – and while they'd never threatened or physically hurt her before, there was always a first time.

* * *

Mr. Zaradnicheck was a bear of a man, tall and broad and with the sort of bushy beard that uncomfortably reminded Ratchet of a Hell's Angel. The moment he opened the door and leveled his steely glare on Conrad, he could feel sudden panic flood his host's mind. Even he couldn't help but flinch a bit, despite the man not even knowing he was there.

"Uh… hi," Conrad squeaked. "Is Angie there?"

The man narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"I just wanted to talk to her…"

"You're that nobody she's dating, aren't you?"

"Uh… I guess?"

"She's sleeping," he replied gruffly. "She hasn't been feeling well. I don't want her bothered."

Ratchet caught a brief thought from Conrad's part of their shared mind – _likely story._ He had to admit that he knew little about Mr. Zaradnicheck, but he was certainly physically imposing enough that he could imagine him intimidating and even frightening many people, even his own daughter. And despite not wanting to believe that this man was capable of what Conrad thought, there was still the fact that Angela had called them not too long ago, and had sounded far too terrified to simply be sick…

"Dad?"

Mr. Zaradnicheck turned to look behind him, and his expression immediately softened. "Hey Princess… shouldn't you be in bed?"

"I feel fine, Dad," came the exasperated reply. "Really, I'm doing better. Who is it?" And the speaker nudged him aside to come face to face with Conrad.

Ratchet recognized her immediately, of course – she was the female employee from the game store, the one he'd seen the first day of his strange captivity. And from what he'd gathered of Conrad's thoughts, the two of them were pretty close. But what most interested him was the faint buzz of energy she gave off, one that had become quite familiar to him in the past few days.

_She's a host._

He felt Conrad's eyes widen slightly in surprise, then a quick mental acknowledgement. Aloud, Conrad said "Hey… you okay?"

She bit her lip nervously, then turned to look at her father. "Dad, I need to talk to 'Rad."

He nodded.

"Alone," she added pointedly.

He scowled. "I don't like the thought of you two by yourselves."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, I'm not a child," she griped. "And we're just going to talk, not go make out in his car. If he even had a car."

' _Yikes, that was harsh,'_ Conrad thought with a wince.

 _She's just trying to chase him off so we can talk in private,_ Ratchet defended. _Don't take it too personally._

Mr. Zaradnicheck glared at Conrad. "You touch her and I'll make you regret it. You hear?"

"Yes sir," Conrad replied with a mix of fear and exasperation. He motioned for Angela to follow, and the two of them walked out into the driveway. Mr. Zaradnicheck's eyes bored into them the whole way, and even when he shut the door Ratchet had a suspicion that the man was watching them from a window. Primus, were all human fathers this paranoid?

Angela blew out a sigh and turned to face Conrad. "I'm scared, 'Rad."

"Is it your father?" he asked. "I know he's not happy with you being in the band, but…"

"It's not him," she replied. "I know you and him don't get along, and he can be a pain in the ass, but he's a good guy even if he's kinda overprotective." She hesitated, as if not sure how to explain things, then pressed on. "Conrad, I think I'm dying."

Shock and horror flooded their shared mind at that. Conrad's jaw dropped. "What?"

"Yesterday I was getting ready for work and I passed out in the shower," she confessed. "And ever since then I've been getting these weird dizzy spells… and my ears are playing weird tricks on me..." She shuddered. "I haven't told my parents – they'd freak out if they thought it was more than just a flubug. But I had to tell someone… and I figured you should know, at least…"

Familiar symptoms, Ratchet thought. It sounded like carrying Cybertronian sparks was already starting to affect the various hosts. More than anything, he hoped Shockwave's estimate of two weeks wasn't being generous, and that the humans caught up in this wouldn't suffer permanent damages. They had no part in the war and didn't deserve this.

"Your ears are playing tricks on you?" Conrad asked. "You mean like hearing voices?"

She tensed. "Not quite like that…"

"Angie, you can trust me," he assured her. "I just want to know if you're okay."

She looked down at her feet, then back up. "Yeah… yeah, it's voices. Some kind of auditory hallucination, I guess."

Conrad braced himself. _'Ready to make contact, Ratch?'_

_Ready._

He nodded and reached out to take Angela's hand in his. Ratchet immediately pulsed a thought toward her, hoping to reach her resident spark.

 _This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots-_ he began.

A voice interrupted him almost immediately. _This is Lord Starscream, leader of the Decepticons. Whoever's in there, please respo- oh, you have GOT to be KIDDING me!_

Angela's eyes nearly bulged in shock. "Oh my god…"

 _Oh frag,_ Ratchet cursed. _You too… you blasted Decepticons just can't stay dead, can you?_

 _I could say the same for you, wretched Autobot,_ Starscream sneered. _What are you doing here?_

_The same thing you're doing – trying to figure out what the slag is going on, and trying to gather the others and get myself in my own body again. Just didn't expect to find you along the way._

Unexpectedly, Angela broke out into laughter. "Thank god, I'm not the only one… there's someone else…"

"A lot of someone elses," Conrad replied. "Um… who's the Cobra Commander wannabe?"

 _That's Lord Starscream to you, fleshling,_ Starscream growled. _Leader of the Decepticons… or at least I will be once I get back to Cybertron and crush that despicable Galvatron character…_

"He just showed up out of the blue the morning I passed out," Angela explained. "At first he was screaming like a little girl…"

 _Hey!_ Starscream yelped indignantly.

"…yelling for someone not to kill him. Then he started rambling about going back to Cybertron and getting revenge. I thought I was going nuts."

"I know the feeling," Conrad admitted. "Though at least my guy was a little calmer about things."

"At least you got an Autobot," she griped, though she poked him good-naturedly. "So… Mr. Ratchet?"

 _Just Ratchet,_ he replied. _And I apologize for Starscream's behavior toward you, ma'am. He's not the easiest mech to deal with._

_Watch your vocalizer, Autobot. Else you'll be the first to die once I return to my true, glorious form._

"So humble, isn't he?" Angela noted. "So… I'm not dying, I just have a robot ghost stuck in my body?"

Ratchet wished he could lie to the girl and give her a completely honest yes. But medical professionalism won out. _Sadly, it seems Cybertronian energy is toxic to organics. If we don't find the others and get them back to Autobot City within two weeks…_

Her grip on Conrad's hand tightened. "How do we find them?"

_Starscream, in you and Angela's encounters with other humans, have you picked up any strange energy readings?_

_How should I know? The blasted human hasn't been outdoors since I got here. Only one I've gotten weird energy readings from is your host._

_Angela, do you feel up to going outside? We need to find the others as soon as possible, and Conrad and I aren't going to be able to do it alone. We need both of you to scour Provo, and keep an eye out for anyone giving off a strange energy signature. Once we've identified every spark we can, we'll contact Autobot City._

_Because they'll be SO eager to help the Decepticon Commander get his body back,_ Starscream sneered.

"Oy!" Angela barked. "You be quiet! Don't make me take drastic measures to make you behave. Ever seen _Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo?"_

"Geez, Angie, you're cruel," Conrad laughed.

"Hey, now that I know there's an actual person in my head and not just oncoming schizophrenia, I can find ways to make him behave." She smirked.

Ratchet couldn't help a mental laugh of his own. It sounded like Angela would be the perfect fit for keeping Starscream under control. And now that she had adjusted to the situation, she would be the perfect ally in their quest.

"So who all have you found so far?" she asked.

"Huffer, Shockwave, and Shrapnel," Conrad replied. "Shockwave's in that kooky fortune-teller lady, Huffer's in Howard…" He waited for Angela to quit laughing at that. "And Shrapnel ended up in Gandalf."

"Your dog? Aww, poor puppy." She thought a moment. "Any idea where any others might be?"

"Yeah… we think Zack's dad and Fielding's little brother might have sparks as well. Also Crazy Jon and that one airhead who keeps coming into the store thinking we're a Hastings." Here he flinched mentally at the memory, a feeling Ratchet couldn't help but echo.

"She kicked you, didn't she?" Angela asked, smirking a little. "Let me handle her. She's less likely to feel threatened by another girl."

"Did you want to talk to the others and see what you can find out?" he asked. "I'll call in sick tomorrow and do another search. Maybe working together we can track them all down before…" He didn't finish, but everyone present knew what he was thinking.

 _Just hurry, organic germ,_ Starscream rasped. _If I die because you two glorified apes were too slow to act, I'll find a way to come back and haunt you._

 _They won't be in any position to be haunted should that happen,_ Ratchet pointed out. _But yes… we need to hurry._

"Roger-dodger," Angela replied. "I gotta go back in. Dad's probably looking daggers at us right now. But I'll get up early tomorrow and see if I can't hunt a few of these guys down."

"Me too. If we hurry, we might be able to beat this."

Ratchet whole-sparkedly agreed with that. That deal with Primus was coming back to haunt him in a way he hadn't expected at all. And if anything happened to these organics thanks to his rash decision, he would never forgive himself.


	8. Chapter 8

Chandra sighed and put back the copy of _Assassin's Creed_ she'd been looking over. This place sucked. Not only did it not carry anything besides video games, but it didn't even have good video games. She might buy something from here if they carried something she actually played, like _Plants vs. Zombies_ or _Rock Band,_ but it was all shooters and slash-em-ups and weird imported Japanese stuff. Why did she even keep coming back here?

_I was gonna ask you th' same thing._

"Shut up," she grumbled, stalking down the aisle. "I didn't ask for your commentary."

_It took ya three visits t' this place t' figure out all they sell is video games? Primus, here I thought the females of yer species were actually intelligent._

"I said shut up," she muttered, and pulled out her iPhone and held it to the side of her head. If anyone saw her talking to herself, they'd have her locked up, so might as well make it look like she was having a phone conversation.

_That's th' first time I've seen you use your head since I got here._

"If all you can do is insult me, Ironman, then get lost."

_Ironhide, not Ironman. Primus, at least try t' get my name right!_

"That's a dumb name," Chandra noted, giving a nearby shelf of game cartridges a weird look. Did people even still play those games anymore? Those looked old enough for her dad to have played. Unless they were some kind of collector's item…

 _So why do you keep comin' here if y' ain't gonna buy nothin'?_ the voice demanded. _Yer wastin' our time here._

Our time… like a voice in her head had time of its own to waste. She supposed she should have been a little more worried about hearing voices, but then, she had hit her head pretty hard when she'd lost her balance and fallen off her horse last week. It was possible this was just an aftereffect of the concussion and would wear off soon. So long as it didn't result in her getting kicked out of her riding club, she was fine with it.

_Are ya listenin' to me? There's better things we could be doin' than killin' time here._

"What I'm doing here is none of your business," she snapped. "And what things, genius?"

"Ironhide" seemed about to reply, but just then someone walked out of the back room of the store… and Chandra thought her heart would stop.

"Sorry I'm late," the employee blurted as he made his way to the register. "Had to drop my mom and brother off at the hospital before work."

"Don't worry about it, Fielding," the other employee told him. "Just glad you could come in. 'Rad called in sick, and who knows if Angie's gonna show up. Seems like everyone's got the crud this week."

"I know," Fielding replied. "It's a little scary. Think there's a disease going around?"

Chandra didn't pay much attention to the conversation – she just ducked behind a shelf and pretended to browse, though she cast the occasional covert glance at the employee that called himself Fielding. He was in early today! Wonderful! Now if she could just keep him from noticing she was staring at him… though maybe if he noticed her he'd come up and ask if he could help her find something, or even offer a date…

 _Primus almighty,_ groaned the voice. _THAT'S the reason we're here?_

Chandra couldn't help it – she giggled. "Isn't he dreamy?"

 _How'm I supposed t' know if he's… dreamy?_ The voice sounded disgusted at having to say that last word. _I don't look at th' males of yer species that way. An' ain't he old for you?_

"Hey, be quiet," she complained. "Chris Hemsworth is too old for me and I don't hear you complaining that I shouldn't be looking."

_Who th' frag is Hemsworth?_

"He was Thor in that movie we watched last night, remember? He's so cute!"

The voice sighed. _Only a human femme can ruin a good action flick by droolin' over th' actors…_

"Oh, hey there."

Chandra felt her heart leap – Fielding was talking to her! She looked up, opening her mouth to form a reply… only to groan in dismay. The employee wasn't addressing her, but a girl who was entering the store. On the plus side, she recognized this girl as another employee, so at least she was fairly positive she was just a co-worker instead of a girlfriend.

_There's somethin' funny about her._

"That's what you said about the creepy guy yesterday."

_I kept tellin' you we shoulda stopped to talk to him…_

Before Ironhide could go on, the girl walked up to Chandra. She smiled broadly and held out her hand.

"Hey there," she greeted. "My name's Angela. I've seen you around here."

Chandra pushed aside her irritation and smiled back, holding her own hand out. "You work here, right? Maybe you can help me find something?"

"I do, but I'm not on duty right now," Angela explained. "I actually needed to talk to you about something." She clasped Chandra's in hers.

 _This is Lord Starscream, leader of the Decepticons._ That voice wasn't Ironhide – it was higher-pitched and raspy, as if the speaker had a bad case of laryngitis but was determined to speak through it. _If there is a fellow Decepticon in there – or an Autobot, I suppose – please respond._

Chandra froze, and from the back of her mind she could feel a burst of shock from… presumably the voice. Before either she or Ironhide could speak up, though, Angela cut in.

"I know what you're going through," she said comfortingly, squeezing her hand. "What both of you are going through, actually. And we're here to help you."

* * *

_There's got to be a better way to do this._

' _Don't you start the "get a cell phone already" talk. And there's worse options than this.'_

There was a grand total of one public pay phone left in this area of Provo, and it was attached to a consignment store on the far end of the same strip mall Angry Duck Games occupied. One of the managers at the store was a frequent customer at the game store and was fairly friendly with the Angry Duck crew, and when Conrad had made the oddball request of being allowed to take calls there, she had obliged. Now he waited, leaning against the brick wall and ready to duck out of sight if Mr. Jakobsen or one of his co-workers happened to spot him.

He and Angela had decided that she would check up on the leads he'd made yesterday before he ventured out to further explore the city. Once she'd followed up on those they suspected already carried sparks, he would go out and see if he could find anyone else. It was their hopes – and Ratchet and Starscream's – that with two people doing the searching instead of one, they could track everyone down before their time ran out.

What to do then… even Ratchet wasn't sure of that. But Conrad figured they'd cross that bridge when they came to it.

The phone rang, and Conrad grabbed for the receiver. "Hello?"

"Okay, here's the sitch," Angela informed him. "The girl who kicked you? Her name is Chandra Palmer. She'll be a junior in high school once school starts again, and she's playing host to someone called Ironhide."

 _Ironhide!_ Ratchet sounded both relieved and amused at that. _Oh, Primus, the poor mech…_ And he cracked up laughing.

"Ratchet thinks that's hilarious, apparently," Conrad noted.

"So does Starscream, actually," Angela laughed. "She's actually willing to work with us too, provided I set her up with a date with Fielding."

"Isn't he too old for her? Not to mention I don't think he's allowed to date outside his religion."

"We'll figure something out. Anyhow, moving on… I was able to bump into Fielding's family as they were coming out of the hospital. His little brother, Tanner, has someone named Prowl inside him."

 _Prowl… in a child's body…_ Ratchet seemed about to laugh again but restrained himself. _Is Tanner all right?_

"How's Tanner?" Conrad relayed.

"Doing fine now, it looks like," Angela replied. "His family's pretty stressed – all the tests have come back negative, apparently. But the kid thinks it's awesome that he has a giant robot stuck in his head. His family's still convinced he's got an imaginary friend, though."

"What about Zack's dad? Were you able to meet up with him?"

"Yeah, actually… does the name Brawn mean anything to you, Ratch?"

 _That's one of ours,_ Ratchet replied. _And it sounds like we've managed to uncover the entire crew of our shuttle now. That's a big step from where we were before._

Conrad relayed all that, then added "Did you find Jon?"

"No, but I'll keep looking. Oh, I did get another lead on a possible spark – Fielding says there was some excitement at his church yesterday. The bishop passed out at the podium, and they had to call an ambulance for him."

"Yikes. Is he okay?"

"I guess he's back home now. He's a physician at a family clinic just two blocks from the game store. If you hurry maybe you can catch him."

"I thought you said he was a bishop, not a doctor."

"He's a bishop AND a doctor. I guess Mormons don't play their clergy, so they have to work other jobs on the side."

That made sense. "Anything else?"

"Starscream got some weird vibes when I took that shortcut past the… uh… gentleman's club downtown. They aren't open yet, but you might check it out later."

"Uh, no."

"Come on, 'Rad, you know I can't go in!"

"Do you know how much trouble I'd be in if my mom found out I was going into a strip club?"

 _If it means saving the life of whoever is in there that has a spark, then it'll be worth it,_ Ratchet cut in. _Let's face it, we're running out of time. If we don't find the sparks soon, it'll mean a lot more deaths. Surely your mother can't object to that._

Conrad groaned. He'd had a feeling this whole search was going to end up causing problems. He had rather hoped that getting groin-kicked by a girl would be the worst of it, though. Now it sounded like he was going to have to embarrass himself further.

"All right," he conceded. "I'll see what I can do. Let's just hope whoever it is isn't inside a dancer, or we're screwed. Most places have a 'don't touch the dancers' rule."

"And you know this how?"

"It was on _CSI,_ shut up. I'm gonna run and talk to that bishop. You keep looking, all right?"

"Will do. Love you, 'Rad."

"Love you, Angie. Be safe." He returned the phone to its receiver, blowing out a sigh. "Wow… can we get any more complete opposites than that? A religious guy and a stripper?"

_I have to admit, that's a little extreme for a random chance. Still, coincidences happen. It's still unusual that all these sparks ended up in such close proximity to each other._

' _Lucky for us, at least. If we'd had to search the entire planet or even just the state for all these people, we'd be screwed.'_

_True._

Conrad mounted his bike and set off. _'How many do we have left?_

Ratchet paused, and Conrad thought he could feel him silently counting off names in his head. _Ironhide, Brawn, and Prowl make eight of us now. We're at the halfway mark._

' _Good… means we should be able to get everyone together before the two weeks are up. Just hope everyone's willing to cooperate.'_

 _I hope so too. And I hope our scientists can do something about all this as well._ Ratchet paused, as if pondering something. _Sooner or later you're going to have to tell your parents about this, you know._

' _Are you kidding me? Mom would freak out. And Dad doesn't give a damn whether I'm alive or dead.'_

_They're your creators, for frag's sake! They've got a right to know! And I'm sure your father cares…_

' _He didn't even bother showing up at my high school graduation. What's going to make him suddenly care that I've got a toxic alien ghost in my head?'_

_I'm trying to be helpful here, Conrad! Maybe you and your father have a bad past, but he's got a right to know. And what will freak your mother out more – knowing you have a possibly terminal condition but knowing you still have a chance, or suddenly finding you dead one day? Because if we don't figure out how to get me out of your body in time, that could very well happen._

The thought of his mom coming in to wake him up one day, only to find his lifeless body, made the bottom drop out of his stomach. Reluctantly he had to admit that Ratchet had a point. If his mom suddenly found out she had cancer or ASL or something similar, he'd want to know how much time she had left instead of not knowing until the disease had taken its toll. For him to do that to her would be cruel.

Telling his dad was another story… but maybe he could avoid that. And thankfully a handy change of subject came up right ahead.

"This looks like the place," he said aloud, braking in front of the clinic and chaining his bike to a handy rack. "Let's hope the doctor's in and isn't busy."

_Did you think to get his name?_

'…'

Well, crap. He'd completely forgotten to ask Angela for that bit of info. Stumped, he walked into the clinic and had a look around. Maybe he'd somehow recognize their particular doctor as a Mormon right off the bat. Fielding wore a ring with the initials CTR on them – "Choose the Right," basically the Mormon equivalent to "What Would Jesus Do?" Maybe this bishop would be wearing something like that?

"Sir, can I help you?"

"Huh?" He glanced up to find the receptionist looking at him. "Uh… I just needed to see one of the doctors here."

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No, I'm not sick or anything… I just need to talk to him."

"All our physicians are with patients at the moment. Tell me which one you need to see and I'll take a message for you."

"Uh…" Why hadn't Angie given him the name first thing? Finally he decided he'd have to fib his way into an audience with this doctor-bishop. Hopefully if there was a God, he wouldn't immediately fire a lightning bolt in his direction for lying to a man of the cloth.

 _Lightning bolt?_ Ratchet asked, puzzlement clouding his corner of their mind. _We're indoors. You humans have some odd theology._

' _Says the giant robot who claims his god turns into a planet?'_

_Oh, hush. That at least makes some degree of sense…_

"Sir?" The receptionist was sounding a little impatient now.

"Oh, um… it's a personal thing. I need to talk to my bishop about… something, and it can't wait until Sunday."

"Oh!" Her eyes lit up in understanding, and she nodded. "You're wanting Dr. Donaldson, then. I'll let him know you're in. It might be a little while, but you're welcome to wait for him if you'd like."

"Thanks, ma'am." Conrad went to sit down, kicking a couple of plastic blocks out of the way before settling in. The waiting room was fairly messy, with toys scattered from one end to the other and some outdated magazines scattered on the end tables. He guessed a couple people with young kids had been in here sometime today. Thankfully the only people in at the moment were a woman with a young baby, watching a news report on the waiting room's TV, and an older man asleep in a chair near the entrance.

For a time he simply waited in silence. Then, as impatience began gnawing at him, he began to shuffle through the magazines in an attempt to find something to distract himself. Things like _Time_ and _Good Housekeeping_ didn't exactly make for thrilling reading, but at least they'd kill time.

Naturally Ratchet decided to pipe up at that moment. _Conrad… it's about time I told you something._

' _Hmm? I'm listening.'_ He finally decided on a _Sports Illustrated_ and began to thumb through it. He didn't normally follow sports, but if he was going to be caught reading a magazine, better this than something potentially embarrassing like _Cosmo_.

 _It's about me being here… I don't think it was entirely accidental. And… I think…_ Ratchet hesitated, and Conrad could sense that he was dreading saying whatever it was he had to say. That didn't bode well… and he could feel his gut start to clench in apprehension.

_I think it may be my fault that I'm here. That you're in this situation._

' _What are you talking about? What do you mean it's your fault? Not like you were planning on getting shot…'_

_I didn't tell you the whole story of what happened when I was shot…_

Before Ratchet could say another word, however, a man in a white doctor's coat stepped into the waiting room. He was fairly tall and looked to be in his late forties or early fifties, with dark hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples, startlingly blue eyes framed by gold-rimmed glasses, and a face that somehow looked authoritative and kindly at the same time. He gave Conrad a friendly smile before turning to the receptionist, and the two fell into a brief, murmured conversation.

 _That must be our target,_ Ratchet noted. _He's got a spark, at any rate._

' _Good to know,'_ Conrad replied, though he couldn't help feeling just a stab of annoyance that Ratchet had cut off in the middle of his explanation. He'd try to weasel a straight answer out of him once they were done here.

The doctor finished talking to the receptionist and headed over to Conrad. "Good morning, sir. I'm Dr. Donaldson, family physician. It's a pleasure." He extended a hand. "I was told you needed to talk to me?"

"Uh, yeah… do you have an office or something? This is kinda private…"

Dr. Donaldson frowned. "You're not a patient, and I don't recognize you from church… could I ask what this is about?"

Conrad opened his mouth, then figured it was best to let Ratchet do the talking. He reached out and grabbed the offered hand. Ratchet didn't waste any time and immediately launched into his standard request.

_This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots. If there is a fellow Cybertronian in there, please respond._

There was no reply. The doctor's mouth fell open in shock.

 _I know you're in there,_ Ratchet snapped, dropping his professional demeanor and letting his impatience show. _Stop hiding and say something. I've got important news for you and your host._

_Who says I'm hiding, wretched Autobot?_

Ratchet sputtered incoherently, and Conrad's hand jerked away of Dr. Donaldson's of its own accord. The doctor was about the color of his coat now, and was looking unsteady enough on his feet that the receptionist was giving the two of them a concerned look.

' _Ratchet! I told you not to do that again!'_

_It was an accident! I panicked! Primus-fraggit, of all mechs to run into today…_

' _What, someone you hate?'_

_It's Megatron! The leader of the Decepticons!_

Suddenly Ratchet's desire to stop touching the doctor's hand made perfect sense. In fact, Conrad had a sudden desire to get the hell out of the clinic and as far away as he could. Megatron! He didn't know much about the Decepticon commander, but what little he'd learned from the news reports and Ratchet's explanations was enough to chill him to the core. This mech seemed to be a combination of the worst traits of every tyrant he could think of, a brutal yet cunning leader who would see Earth sucked dry and reduced to lifeless rock in order to fuel his plans for conquest…

Dr. Donaldson grabbed Conrad's arm and dragged him down a hallway, making a beeline for an examination room.

"Hey!" Conrad tried to squirm free, but the doctor was stronger than he looked. Before he had more than a moment to process what was happening the doctor had steered him into the room, plunked him in a chair, and shut and locked the door. Then he fixed Conrad with a bewildered look.

"What's going on here?" he demanded in a breathless whisper.

"It's okay, sir," Conrad assured him, though he knew that was something of a lie right now. "You're not going crazy or anything. You've got the… the soul, I guess, of a dead Cybertronian in you. So do I, actually. But it sounds like we got ones that are from opposite sides."

The doctor just stared at him a moment longer. Then a flicker of understanding shone in his eyes, and he sat dazedly down on the examination table, holding his head in his hands.

"Then this is real," he murmured. "I'm not going crazy…"

 _Primus, the poor man,_ Ratchet said sympathetically. _This had to be a nightmare for him. Especially given who's in his head right now._

Conrad couldn't help feeling a surge of pity towards Dr. Donaldson as well. Cautiously he got up from his chair and went to the doctor's side, resting a hand on his shoulder. The man didn't move, but somehow Conrad could feel Megatron inside him, almost flinching away from the touch in disgust.

"Dr. Donaldson… or Bishop Donaldson, I guess… it's all right. Well, not entirely, but… we're going to fix this."

He lowered his hands, still pale but looking more in control of himself now. "I'll be all right," he said at last. "And call me Adam. You're not a patient or a member of my church, so for now just call me by my first name."

"Can do. I'm Conrad, by the way. Conrad Hawkins."

Adam nodded. "I started hearing voices last week… screaming, raging, cursing some entity called Unicron. I thought I was delusional, that work and my church and things at home were stressing me out so much I was cracking. I even wondered if I might be… possessed, even though our church doesn't do exorcisms and such. Then the voice went away, and I assumed that whatever it was had been temporary. That was before the blackouts, and the balance problems… but I didn't dare tell my family what was going on. I didn't want them to worry."

 _I'm so sorry about this, sir,_ Ratchet told him, sounding almost contrite. _You didn't deserve this. And I'm sorry to say this, but… the blackouts and other side effects aren't good news. If we don't get Megatron's spark out of you soon, it could be fatal._

Adam gave a shudder. "You're… a doctor, sir? A medic, you said? Can you cure this?"

_I don't know… but I'm fragged well going to try. You have my word on that, sir._

_Of course the Autobot would be more concerned about the human's welfare than a fellow Cybertronian's,_ Megatron sneered. _You don't care that one of your own kind is trapped in a disgusting organic body, wasting and decaying away while his host pretends he's just a figment of an addled imagination? I can't even move this body's limbs! I'm helpless in here!_

Privately Conrad felt relief that Megatron hadn't figured out how to hijack Adam's body for his own use. Then he found himself hoping Megatron couldn't read his thoughts while he was in contact with his host's body. No sense giving a mechanical space tyrant ideas.

 _And since when have YOU cared about any other Cybertronian's welfare than your own, Megatron?_ Ratchet snapped.

 _Why you insolent pacifistic weakling!_ Megatron snarled. _You talk so big NOW when I'm unable to fight back, but just wait until I get my body back…_

"Okay, knock it off, you two," Conrad ordered. "Look, Megs, I get that you're not happy with this. Nobody is. But would it make you feel better if I told you that some of the other Decepticons are alive too? Just stuck in other bodies?"

 _That all depends on which ones have survived,_ Megatron grumbled.

"Um… Shrapnel, Starscream, possibly Thundercracker and Skywarp… oh, and Shockwave." That reminded him, he needed to check his e-mail and see if Madame Sapphique had anything interesting to say. She might be a loony, but she was still one of their weird little group now.

 _Naturally, my most useless and treacherous subordinate survived,_ Megatron noted with disdain. _How is it Starscream is so adept at cheating death? Thundercracker and Skywarp are at least marginally more useful…_ He seemed to ponder a moment. _Knowing Shockwave is close by is at least some good news. Let's hope his host is at least somewhat more accepting of the situation._

Ratchet snorted in laughter. _She's… actually taking it quite well._

_What's so amusing, medic?_

_Nothing, nothing… Dr. Donaldson, I'm going to have to ask you to hang tight a little longer. We're still trying to track down the rest of the Autobots and Decepticons who we believe might be in the area. Once we've located everyone, we'll organize a meeting and plan our next step. It might entail going to Autobot City and seeing if our medics and scientists there can help. And sir… if I were you, I'd tell your family what's going on. This is a serious matter, and they deserve to know. At least tell your wife, if no one else._

He hesitated, then nodded. "What if she doesn't believe me?"

_Hmm… well, it seems that contact with a host allows communication between a spark and another spark's host. I don't know if that applies to a human that's not carrying, but it's worth a shot. Megatron, if it comes to it, will you agree to talk to his wife and brief her on the situation?_

_You expect me to lower myself to communicate with a lowly fleshling?_

_If you don't want your host to drop dead in a couple of weeks and kill you off in the process, then yes,_ Ratchet snapped. _Also, I expect you to let us know if you encounter anyone else carrying a spark. If we don't find everyone and get our sparks back in proper Cybertronian bodies soon, then our spark energies will terminate our hosts, and us with them. Conrad'll leave you his contact information before we go._

"I'll let you know," Adam promised. "And Ratchet… Conrad… thank you. Knowing what's wrong with me is a huge load off my chest."

"Even if what's wrong with you turns out to be the ghost of an alien warlord?"

At that, the doctor actually cracked up laughing. "Oh wow… put it that way, it sounds like something off the science fiction channel. But yes… even if it's that, it's better than not having any sort of clue at all."

Conrad smiled. "Take care of yourself, sir. And um… God be with you, I guess?"

Adam chuckled. "I'm not sure how you know I'm a bishop…"

"A friend of mine's in your congregation. Fielding Pratt?"

"Ah yes, him. But you can talk to me like I'm a normal person, you know. We don't stand on formality in our church."

"That's good to know. Thanks, sir. See you later."

"You take care, Conrad."

* * *

It looked like finding Megatron would be their last stroke of luck for the day – if running into the Autobots' worst enemy could be called luck. Conrad had pedaled through a good chunk of the city and found no one else. Ratchet had felt the pull of another spark twice, but the first time turned out to be Howard again, and the second managed to elude them by getting on a bus before they could track them down. Which meant their target could be anywhere by now.

Ratchet couldn't shake off a feeling of discouragement as Conrad hauled his bike through the house and toward the garage. Surely there had to be a better way to find their missing comrades than this. Even though they kept asking every new host they met to alert them if they found anyone else, only Angie was proving to be helpful. The longer this search went on, the greater the chance was that their spark energies could wreak irreversible damage on their hosts.

And if any of these organics – or his comrades – died before they could get help, he would never forgive himself.

Conrad sighed as he dumped his bike in the garage and headed to his room to change his clothes. The young man had called in sick to work but donned his work clothes anyway, apparently just in case he ran into his mother right before or after they'd left so that she wouldn't know he'd skipped a day. Ratchet didn't approve of that bit of subterfuge, and even though he knew the kid's heart was in the right place – he still didn't want to worry his mom – he couldn't help but feel there had to be a better way to handle the situation than lying. Such as just coming right out and telling her what was going on.

Though in that case, Ratchet supposed he needed to come clean and tell Conrad him being here wasn't an accident. If Primus had indeed accepted his bargain and spared his life by putting him in an organic body, then it was pretty much his fault that Conrad, Angie, and all the others were in this position in the first place. But Ratchet feared that if he told his host the truth, he'd be angry enough to stop helping him entirely.

 _Come on, he's not that unreasonable,_ he told himself. _He might be upset, but I seriously doubt he's going to give up on this cause because of it. Especially since his life hinges on this._

"You're awfully broody in there," Conrad noted, pulling on a T-shirt that bore the strange slogan "Save Ferris." "What's on your processor, Ratch?"

_Hmm? Oh… just something I wanted to discuss with you._

"Yeah, you were starting to say something back in the doctor's office." He sat down at the desk and turned on his computer. "Mind if I check my e-mail and put on a movie while we talk?"

 _Not at all._ Maybe having Conrad semi-distracted while he talked might lessen his chances of getting too angry with the medic.

"All right." Conrad booted up his laptop. "How's the new _Voltron_ movie sound to you?"

_Voltron? Isn't that the cartoon from a couple decades back about the giant robot? The one made of cats?_

"Robotic lions, actually, but yeah. It was pretty popular. But then someone got the bright idea to make a live-action movie based on it, and they got the guy who made _Armageddon_ to direct it." He opened a web browser and began to tinker. "I think it's pretty sweet, but Zack keeps whining that they've ruined Voltron forever and Michael Bay's a hack and all that jazz."

_Seems like a pretty trivial thing to complain about. It's just a movie, after all._

"Yeah, but it's pretty funny for the rest of us. And it's not a bad movie. Kinda stupid, but it's fun if you don't mind turning your brain off for a couple hours."

_Right. But we're getting off track here. There's something we need to discuss…_

"Wait." Conrad leaned forward suddenly, a jolt of excitement running through their shared mind. "Ratch… am I reading this right?"

Ratchet felt momentarily grateful for the distraction… but what he read in the e-mail Conrad had just opened would have caused his fans to shut down momentarily if he still had them.

_Hello, Conrad, this is Madame Sapphique. Just wanted to let you know I found one of your "spark" friends. Does the name Optimus Prime mean anything to you or your companion?_


	9. Chapter 9

Of all the Cybertronians caught up in this latest bizarre predicament, perhaps only Wheeljack was happy with the situation. Not because he had ever fantasized about being human – Hound and Beachcomber had both expressed a desire to take on an organic body at some point, but the engineer was mostly content with living life as a Cybertronian. And truth be told, he'd found this whole thing mind-boggling at first – and his host wasn't exactly thrilled with it either.

But once the shock had worn off, he had realized he now had an unprecedented opportunity – the chance to study how organics functioned firsthand. And not just by observation, but by actually participating along with said organic. Sure, it was fairly disgusting at times and he still wasn't sure about all the social mores and etiquette that humans seemed to hold just as necessary as vital functions like eating and breathing. But disgusting or not, it was still fascinating, and didn't a scientist need to make sacrifices for the greater good?

That, and his host's current condition just made this all the more interesting… well, to him, at least.

 _Whoa, I think it kicked again,_ he noted, laughing. _Not even out yet and it's active._

His host – or was that hostess? – laughed softly in response. "At least somebody's interested in her kicking. Even if it a ghost."

_I ain't exactly a ghost, ma'am. Thought I explained this._

"You're a spirit bereft of a body," she replied. "That qualifies as a ghost by our standards."

_Well… ya put it like that, I guess it's accurate._

She chuckled again and lay back on the bed, one hand on her belly. "I guess I should be more weirded out by the fact that I'm hearing voices. I mean, that can't be a good sign. I've heard of post-natal psychosis but not pre-natal."

_I can assure you, ma'am, you're not going crazy. I'm not just a voice in your head._

"I know, Jack. It's just… a little weird to deal with. As if trying to get ready for a baby wasn't enough on top of everything else." She sighed.

_I think you're taking it really well, ma'am. You didn't even scream or check yourself into an institution or anything when I announced I was here. You seem pretty strong in my book._

"Thanks, Jack. You're sweet."

 _Aw, shucks._ Had he possessed control of their face he might have blushed at that. He wasn't used to getting compliments of any sort from a femme – they tended to look or even run the other way when they saw him. Privately he thought that if she'd been Cybertronian and he'd been in his own body instead of hers, they might have a chance together. But species barriers were pretty tricky to overcome even under normal circumstances… and besides, she had a mate already. She was off-limits. Ah well.

_So how long before the sparkling… I mean the baby's fully developed?_

"She's got about another month to go. I mean, I guess she could be born now and be okay, but it's better for them if they go the full nine months first."

_Makes sense. Well, from an organic standpoint, at least. So um… I have a feeling this is an awkward question, but… how's it come out? You don't have a panel you can open or anything._

A trickle of embarrassment came from her corner of their mind. "Make me give a sex ed lesson to a ghost, why don't you."

 _You already gave me the sex ed portion of this earlier,_ he pointed out. _I'm just curious is all._

"At least you're curious," she admitted. "And seem to care about the baby. Sometimes I wonder if Bryan even knows I'm pregnant. He's practically married to his job."

_Hey, I'm sure he cares. He may not show it the same way, but maybe he just needs a little time to get used to having a sparkling… I mean a baby. Give him a chance._

She smirked. "You sure you're a scientist, Jack? You sound more like a marriage counselor."

_Har har. I'm just trying to be logical… whoa! Hey, it moved again!_

"She," she corrected. "And she did! She must like you."

_Heh… I bet she's gonna be a spunky one when she comes out. Hey, think if I'm in here long enough, I'll get to experience the birth?_

"Oh, god, I hope not," she laughed. "I hear that's a nightmare even for the mother to go through. I'm not sure how well you could take it."

_Hey, I've been shot before. Even blown up a few times. I think I can handle a little pain._

"Can you handle eighteen hours of it? That's how long my mom was in labor with me."

_Eighteen hours… yikes. And you call it labor? You organics make having offspring difficult._

"Hey, it's not like we were given a choice. And we can't just buy a kit and build them like you guys."

_We don't just buy a kit, but I get what you're meaning. Um… you didn't answer my question…_

"All right, genius, I'll tell you," she replied, shifting about to try to find a comfortable position. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

* * *

Conrad found him behind a mobile phone store several blocks from Angry Duck Games. He almost missed him at first – he was curled up in a ball amid a pile of garbage bags and flattened cardboard boxes, his ragged clothing making him nearly invisible to a casual observer. It wasn't until he spotted his boots poking out from the heap that Conrad realized he was there.

For a heart-stopping moment Conrad wondered if Jon was dead. Had he finally starved, or been beaten by another homeless person? Or was he more susceptible to spark energy than others, and had succumbed to whatever sickness having a spark inside him had caused? Heart in his throat, Conrad ran over to the trash pile and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him.

"Jon? Jon! Crazy Jon, it's me, Conrad!"

"Don't need to shout, son," Jon muttered, and sat up, rubbing his forehead. "Dangit, I just got comfy too…"

"Dude, you scared me," Conrad told him, feeling weak with relief. Then he got a good look at the man's face and flinched. "What happened to you?"

"Hmm?" Jon reached up and gingerly touched his face, feeling the bruise around his left eye and the nasty cut in his forehead. "Oh, right, that… got in a bit of a tussle with some cops. 'pparently catching a nap in the park's illegal, and they weren't shy about tellin' me. Didn't help that one of them goons was a lizard…"

"Oh no… not again. You didn't try to hurt him, did you?"

"I'm not stupid. Tried to tell his partner, though, and he wasn't hearing it. They dragged me downtown, I spent the night in a cell, then they dropped me off on a corner. Offered to take me to the shelter, but you know, it's run by lizards."

_He's not going to let this lizard thing go, is he?_

' _He's been going on about it as long as I've known him. Why should he stop now?'_ Aloud he said "Jon, I'm glad to see you again… but there's something I've got to talk to you about."

Jon hauled himself to his feet with a wince. "Oh? Let's hear it."

"Well… maybe its best if I let someone else tell you." And he reached out and took Jon's hand.

When Ratchet spoke this time, it wasn't with his usual brisk, official tone. This time he sounded respectful, even a little awed. And there was a lingering sense of hope from his corner of Conrad's mind, as if he felt talking to this particular spark would solve all their problems.

_Optimus Prime, this is Autobot Ratchet reporting. If you're in here, please respond._

The voice responding was one Conrad had heard several times before on television broadcasts – powerful and commanding, yet friendly and warm at the same time. _Ratchet… you're alive. Thank goodness… I was beginning to think I was the only Autobot who survived._

"Well, I'll be," Jon murmured, a sudden grin crossing his face. "So I wasn't goin' crazy after all."

Conrad sucked in his breath, suddenly seeing Crazy Jon in a new light. Maybe it was just the knowledge that the man carried the leader of the Autobots in his body, but there seemed to be an air of quiet dignity about him now, an aura of power and authority that shone through the dinginess of his exterior. Ratchet, too, seemed affected by this, and when he spoke next it was like he was addressing an old, dear friend rather than just another spark.

_It's so good to speak to you again, Prime sir._

A chuckle. _We've been friends for vorns, Ratchet. There's no need to call me "sir" just now. Especially since I no longer hold the Matrix. It's a bit difficult to carry in an organic body._

Ratchet laughed at that, and Conrad wondered if the medic was going to explain the joke at all. _I wish I could say I was here to deliver good news, Prime, but our situation is pretty dire. Many of the Autobots and Decepticons who were killed in the battle at Autobot City and its aftermath live on in human bodies, but our spark energies are proving toxic to organics. If we don't find a way out soon…_

 _Our hosts could suffer irreparable harm,_ Prime realized. _You're right, it's a bad situation. But it's not entirely hopeless. How many have you managed to track down?_

"The only ones we're missing are Thundercracker, Skywarp, Windcharger, Wheeljack, and two of the Insecticons," Conrad replied. "I'd say we could skip the Decepticons, but that wouldn't be fair to the people stuck with them."

_You found Shockwave, I presume?_

"Yeah, stuck in that fortune teller in the park," Conrad replied.

"Oh, her," Jon laughed. "Crazy old kook. Wonder why they let people like her out on the street."

Hearing those words come out of Crazy Jon's mouth was enough to make Conrad burst out laughing, but he swallowed his laughter just in time. "The big question is what to do afterwards, Prime sir. How do we get out of this mess? We were hoping some of your scientists might have an answer."

 _Most of our top scientists would probably be returning to Cybertron at this moment,_ Prime replied. _However, we should be able to get help for you and your allies by contacting Autobot City._

"Um… that's a long way, sir. And do they even have a phone number?"

 _I can provide you with contact information once we've tracked down the others,_ Prime assured him. _For now, it's imperative that we track down the remaining sparks, and organize some sort of meeting between them. If we could gather all of them in one place somehow, it would help matters greatly._

"Well… we'll see what we can do, sir."

_Very good. Also, I may know where one more spark is located._

_Where?_ Ratchet asked, voice sharp with urgency. _Human, animal, man, woman, child?_

_Woman, and unfortunately not one that speaks English. Jon happened to stumble into a young Hispanic woman the other day when he suffered a dizzy spell, and I was able to catch the thoughts of the spark inside her. I suspect it was Thundercracker._

_Any idea where she lives?_

_Unfortunately, no. But she wore a waitress uniform, so I suspect she worked at a restaurant in the area._

"That's a start, at least." Conrad hesitated, then decided he had nothing to lose for asking. "Jon… would you like to stay at my place? At least until you get Prime's spark out of you?"

Jon's eyes lit up at the offer, but he took a minute to reply. "You're sure, kid? I wouldn't want to upset your mom."

"If I tell her what's going on, maybe she'll understand."

Ratchet seemed to start at that. _I thought you were dead-set against telling your mom._

"I don't like the idea of telling her… but it sounds like she's going to have to know sooner or later. And I can't just leave Optimus Prime out on the street, you know."

 _You have a good spark, young man,_ Prime told him. _Thank you. On Jon's behalf as well as my own. It… hasn't been comfortable for either of us._

"I can imagine, sir." He shook Jon's hand firmly, then motioned for him to follow them.

 _You're sure about this?_ asked Ratchet. _We're taking a rather big chance, assuming your mother's going to be okay with putting up a complete stranger._

' _She's not totally heartless. I just hope she doesn't freak out about this whole spark thing. Or decide that we both need locked up because of it.'_ A horrible but amusing thought crossed his mind just then. _'Or that Jon doesn't decide she's a lizard person the minute he sees her.'_

_Oh… I didn't even think about that. That could get messy._

Conrad grabbed the handlebars of his bike and began walking it down the sidewalk. Jon walked alongside him, a slight spring in his step, and he flashed a friendly smile at everyone who passed by. That earned the pair of them some rather weird and disdainful looks in return, but neither Jon nor Conrad cared much. They'd found Optimus Prime, and somehow that made Conrad feel like nothing could dampen his spirits.

* * *

Conrad's mother met them as soon as they walked through the door, and the moment Ratchet caught sight of her expression he knew there was going to be trouble. There was a flash in her eyes and a set to her mouth that called to mind Prowl in one of his fouler moods, usually in reaction to something the twins had pulled. Whatever was going on, it looked serious… maybe they had better wait for another time to ask for a place for Jon to sleep.

His host was either oblivious to his mom's anger, or figured talking to her was important enough that he could ignore it. The result was both Conrad and his mother speaking almost at the exact same time.

"Mom, I've gotta talk to you."

"We are going to have a talk, young man."

The two of them blinked at one another, bewildered. Then she narrowed her eyes at him and repeated "We're going to have a talk."

"Um… okay, I'll let you start," Conrad deferred.

"Good," she replied. "You can start by explaining where the hell you've been today."

"Uh… at work?"

"Don't you dare lie to me," she snapped. "I called your boss, and he said you called in sick. Where were you all day? What's going on with you?"

Jon shifted uneasily and edged toward the door, as if afraid she was going to start yelling at him next. Ratchet didn't exactly blame the man and sort of wished he could take that option himself.

"Mom, it's a long story," Conrad began. "And I didn't mean to lie to you, honest."

"What's that supposed to mean? How can you not mean to lie to me?"

"I didn't want you to worry is all!"

"What do you mean 'not worry?' What's going on, Conrad? You've had me worried sick lately – first coming home to find you passed out on the floor…"

"That only happened once," he protested.

"…then you keep asking me bizarre health questions, and now you're playing hooky from work and lying to me about it! I want a straight answer, and I want it now!"

Conrad sighed. _'Geez, this isn't how I imagined this going down.'_

_At least she's given you an opening to tell her the truth._

' _How am I supposed to tell her I'm dying? Or that I have an alien ghost stuck in my head?'_

_You do it by letting me do the talking._

Relief swamped Conrad's part of their mind, and he reached out and took his mother's hand. Ratchet braced himself, hoping this would work when she didn't have a spark in her body, and tried to project the words into her mind.

_This is Chief Medical Officer Ratchet of the Autobots._

Her eyes went wide enough that he could see the whites all around her irises. He hadn't known human eyes were capable of that.

 _It's all right, ma'am,_ he tried to assure her. _You're not hearing things – you're hearing me. There's been some sort of bizarre anomaly, and it's resulted in my spark inhabiting your son's body. I'm not possessing him or taking over his mind; we're simply sharing space at the moment. And he took today off work to help me with something very important._

She blinked once, staring at Conrad – though it looked more like she was trying to stare _through_ him and at Ratchet. Then her grip on his hand relaxed, and she sank into a chair.

"Mom?" Conrad hurried to her side, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Mom, you okay?"

"That… wasn't what I was expecting." Her voice was weak and shaky, and her skin had gone a few shades paler.

"Jon, could you get her a glass of water?" Conrad asked. "The glasses are in the cupboard over the dishwasher."

"Got it." He bobbed his head and hurried to the cupboard, reaching for a glass. Then he paused, grimacing at his hands, and he made a stop at the sink first to wash.

"Who's that?" Conrad's mom asked. She still sounded shaky, but some of the strength was returning to her voice, and she sounded more curious than frightened.

"That's Crazy Jon, the homeless guy who hangs around the store. He's got a spark in him too. Optimus Prime's spark."

"Oh." She seemed to want to say something more, but just shrugged as if giving up.

 _I'm sorry to startle you, ma'am,_ Ratchet told her. _But you wanted to know the truth, and well… it's a strange story, even by our standards, but it's the truth._

She nodded. "Right… I wouldn't have believed it if you hadn't spoken up. Still not sure I'm not just dreaming."

"Think we all wish we were just dreaming," Jon noted with a chuckle, and handed her the glass. "Here you are, ma'am."

"Thanks, Jon." She accepted the glass and took a sip, the drink seeming to help steady her nerves. "And to both of you, just call me Lindsey. None of this 'ma'am' stuff."

"Yes, ma'am," Jon replied, then caught himself. "I mean Lindsey."

She offered him a kindly smile. Then an uneasy frown crossed her face. "That still doesn't explain some of the other things…"

 _I'm getting to that, Lindsey,_ Ratchet replied. _We've been tracking down humans and other creatures with Cybertronian sparks in them, and trying to determine how to get said sparks out of their bodies. And just recently we've discovered something even more disturbing._

"Sparks and human bodies don't mix?" she guessed.

_Bulls-eye. And the longer we stay in these bodies, the greater the risk of long-term damage. That's why your son's been ill… and that's why he took the day off work to help us find the rest of our kind. The sooner we can find everyone and get out of our bodies, the better it'll be for everyone involved._

She sucked in her breath, paling all over again, but seemed to be trying to maintain her composure. "How long do we have to find everyone?"

"About a week and a half, max," Conrad replied. "That's according to Shockwave's estimates, though, and we dunno how right those are. But we've found almost everyone, so we don't have that much farther to go."

"Who's Shock… no, never mind." She shook her head and pushed herself to her feet. "How can I help you, Mr. Ratchet? Is there something I can do?"

 _At the moment, we were hoping you could allow Jon here a place in your home,_ Ratchet replied. _It would only be for a few days, perhaps a week. It will ensure he stays relatively safe and healthy until we find everyone else._

She hesitated at that, but finally nodded. "All right… we don't have a guest bedroom, though. Will the couch be all right?"

"The couch would be lovely, ma'am," Jon replied, a pleased grin on his face.

Lindsey gave Jon a critical look that quickly turned sympathetic. "You know, we still have some of Conrad's dad's clothes around here. They should fit you. And maybe you'd like a shower before you change?"

Jon's face turned bright red, and he teared up a bit. "That… that would be wonderful. Bless you."

She smiled and reached out to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. She held the gesture for a few moments, and Ratchet suspected Prime was speaking to her and also passing along his thanks. Then she turned to face Conrad.

"So when are you going to tell your father?"

"Oh geez, Mom, not you too."

"He's got a right to know what's going on. And don't give me that 'he doesn't even bother to contact me' crap either – the phone works both ways, you know."

"Mom, I thought you hated his guts," Conrad retorted. "Why are you defending him?"

"Look, you may not like your father. Hell, I don't like your father. I hate what he did to our family, and that he just up and left us for that Olivia woman. But he still cares about you. And who knows, maybe he's just been avoiding talking to you because he knows you're still angry at him and he doesn't know what to say. I don't know; I'm not in his head. But at least give him a call, all right?"

He blew out an angry sigh. "All right. I'll swing by tomorrow while we're out hunting down more sparks. But I still think he's not going to give a crap."

"You might be surprised." She hugged him tightly. "And next time just tell me when something like this happens. Even if it's something crazy like an alien living in your head."

"Even if it ends up with me getting thrown in a psych ward?"

"Come on, I'm your mom. I know you well enough by now to tell whether you belong in a psych ward." She patted his back, then let him go. "Go show Jon where the shower is and get him some clothes. I'll get the couch set up for him and put out an extra dinner plate. Oh, and maybe loan him a razor?"

Jon's eyes shone like a child's at Christmas. "Aw, shucks, ma'am, I hate to impose…"

"You're not imposing," she assured him. "What kind of a human being would I be if I didn't help you? Especially given who you're sharing bodies with."

"Heh… guess there's some advantages to having the ghost of a truck in my noggin," Jon laughed.

"Okay, Jon, bathroom's this way," Conrad told him, waving him to the hallway. "Oh, and Mom, Gandalf's got a spark in him too, by the way. Someone called Shrapnel. If he starts acting funny or chewing on stuff, that's why."

"Shrapnel… right. Next you're going to tell me Megatron's in the duck that hangs out by your work."

"No, that's Huffer. I'll tell you more at dinner." And he headed off down the hall, Jon in tow, leaving Lindsey to stare after them in bewilderment.

_Think we might have overloaded her brain with everything?_

' _Nah, she'll be fine. I'm just glad she took this so well.'_

_Even if she did agree that you need to tell your paternal creator what's going on?_

' _Rub it in why don't you? And speaking of telling things…'_

_I know, I know, we keep getting distracted from that. Look, help Jon, have dinner with your mother, and then I'll tell you, all right? But just… promise me you'll hear me out before you get upset with me._

Conrad frowned. _'That sounds ominous. But all right.'_

Ratchet went silent while Conrad showed Jon around the house. At least this gave him time to decide how to frame his words, and try to phrase this in a way that wouldn't upset his host.

* * *

Nighttime did wonders for Madame Sapphique's tent, transforming it from a tacky eyesore to something far more mysterious, almost mystical. The moonlight shimmered faintly on the hanging velvet and on the silver curtain of the doorway, illuminating the symbols and darkening the violet cloth so that it seemed to be crafted from folds of night sky instead of ordinary fabric. Anyone who chanced upon it after dark could be forgiven for doing a double take, or for assuming something otherworldly, or at least more exotic than a fortune teller, lived here.

The only being wandering the park at this hour, however, was a man in pajama bottoms and a dark red bathrobe, making his way between the trees and toward the tent. His gait was slow and careful, as if he had to focus on every step, on the simple actions of lifting his foot and putting it back down again. And his eyes were bleary and unfocused, like a sleepwalker's.

The silver curtain parted, and Madame Sapphique poked her head out to study the approaching man. A pleased smile crossed her features, and she beckoned him closer. The man nodded once and picked up his pace slightly, having to duck to pass through the doorway.

The fortune teller lit a candle at her table and drew out a chair for her guest, then sat down across from him. "Welcome back, Megatron. It is always an honor to have you here."

"At least one being on this planet pays me the respect I deserve." The man's voice was rough and slightly slurred, the speaker unused to using a tongue and vocal cords to get his point across. "I am here to speak with Shockwave."

"Of course." She reached across the table and took his hand.

 _Lord Megatron._ Shockwave's voice was as refined and polite as ever, but with a faint warm undertone to it – gladness to be addressing his leader once again.

 _Shockwave… unlike others, you have never failed me._ A smile crossed the man's lips. _This is a most unorthodox and unwelcome situation, but at least I have my most loyal soldier by my side at last._

_How did you find me, Lord Megatron? My host did not contact yours._

_Ratchet's host was fool enough to provide me with the name and location of your host. The idiot doesn't know the value of keeping his mouth shut for his own sake… but his error is our gain._ A mental frown. _Will your host report this to the others?_

_Unlikely, Lord Megatron. I simply had to request that she respect my privacy while I spoke with another spark – or "spirit," as she calls us. She seems to regard us as supernatural beings rather than Cybertronians, and stops just short of worshiping us. She could be our greatest ally._

_Fascinating… and quite beneficial for us. At least one host is cooperative – I have to wait until my own is offline before I can do anything useful._

_You have not yet been able to take control of your host's body while he is awake?_

_Not yet… but I get better with practice. Soon I shall be able to control this creature's body whenever I wish. And if he gives me trouble, then at least he also comes with his own bargaining chips – his mate and young._

Shockwave went silent at that, but not out of disgust at what Megatron was planning. Both Decepticons were waiting for the fortune teller to react to what had to be a shocking statement for the humans. But she was oblivious, a monotone hum droning from her throat as she meditated, giving the two mechs the privacy they needed to talk and plot further.

 _How many of the others have you found?_ Megatron demanded.

 _Thanks to the information provided by Conrad and Angela, we now know where approximately three-quarters of the remaining sparks are,_ he replied. _Including the sparks of Optimus Prime and Starscream._

_Starscream… I'll make that traitor pay yet for his crimes. But Optimus Prime, you say?_

_His host is a homeless man we encountered earlier this evening. His location at this time is unknown, but I will know him if I see him again, my Lord._

_Excellent. We can use this information to our advantage – to be rid of Optimus Prime once and for all._ A mental chuckle. _Perhaps there will be some good to come of this situation after all._

_Orders, Lord Megatron?_

_Continue to play along with Ratchet's little plan for now. Let him find the others, and find some way to get us back into our own bodies. Then we'll strike, and wipe out those infernal Autobots once and for all._

_Yes, my Lord. It shall be done as you command._

The man pulled his hand free of Madame Sapphique's, and he stood and walked slowly out of the tent. By the time she emerged from her meditative trance and opened her eyes, her fellow host was long gone.


	10. Chapter 10

It was ominously quiet inside the car – engine cut, radio off, doors and windows shut to muffle sounds of the outside world. The drone of traffic and the thumping beat of the music from the nearby club managed to penetrate the confines of the vehicle to some extent, but that seemed only to highlight the silence. Ratchet almost imagined he could hear Conrad's heart beating, though he wondered if that was his imagination or not.

He waited for the boy to react, feeling so taut with tension that he thought he would snap. Despite the fact that they had shared a mind and body for a few days now, he still had no idea if Conrad being so quiet was a sign that he'd taken the news well, or if this was just the calm before the storm. Would he remain calm and reasonable, or was he about to explode in rage? He knew what his own reaction would have been, of course, and that didn't exactly ease his mind…

"So this deal with Primus stuff," Conrad said at last, voice quiet and strangely devoid of inflection. "Is it true?"

 _I wouldn't have told you that story if it weren't true,_ Ratchet replied carefully. _I don't know what your religious beliefs are, but I can assure you that our Primus is very real._

"You sure? Ever seen him yourself?"

_Seen? No, Primus hasn't transformed in millions of years. But I've spoken to him… in a sense, I guess… and certainly felt his presence… but that's beside the point!_

"Just making sure," Conrad replied, and his fingers tightened around the steering wheel – the first emotional reaction he'd shown since Ratchet began his explanation. "Because it'd be like some people to do something despicable and blame it on their god."

_What's that supposed to mean?_

"This is your fault is what!" Conrad snapped, all pretense at calm gone. "I'm stuck with you, getting sick and maybe even dying, and it's your fault! Not some weird accident like you made it out to be! How am I supposed to know that I'm not the result of some freaky Autobot experiment and your whole 'deal with God' thing is just a cop-out?"

_You think I'd lie to you? It's not an Autobot experiment! We would NEVER perform tests on humans without their consent! And certainly not without their knowledge!_

"That's supposed to make it better?"

_I didn't mean for this to happen! I thought Primus would just keep me from offlining until we were rescued, not put all our sparks in flesh bodies! You think I like this any better than you do? And put yourself in my situation – if you were dying and had a shot at staying alive, I'm sure you'd take it!_

"So you're gonna kill me to keep yourself alive! That's just peachy!" He glanced out the window of the car, as if just noticing where he was. "And great, people are probably thinking I'm high off my ass and talking to myself here."

 _Conrad, I'm sorry,_ Ratchet told him, trying to calm the young man down. _I honestly am. But I couldn't just let myself die… not when I knew the Autobots still needed me. Primus gave me an option, and I took it. How was I to know it would lead to… this?_

Conrad sat back in the seat a moment, fuming quietly. Then he flung open the door to the car and got out.

_Conrad?_

"Let's find the rest of your guys," he said shortly. "Sooner we do, the sooner I can get you out of me and get back to my life. Before you kill us all."

_Conrad, you act like I'm doing this deliberately…_

"Just shut up already, will you?"

"What?" The rather burly-looking gentleman in front of them turned to glare at Conrad.

"Uh… wasn't talking to you," Conrad said weakly, taking a step back.

The man glared at him a moment longer, then stalked into the club. Conrad hung back a moment, waiting for the man to disappear from view before going in himself.

Lindsey, not at all unexpectedly, had balked when Conrad had asked to borrow her car and drive down to the strip club for the night. Ratchet couldn't exactly blame her for that, though he found it somewhat amusing that she'd been more upset about that request than about finding out her son had the spark of an Autobot trapped in his body. Still, it had annoyed Ratchet that she wouldn't believe his insistence that someone carrying a spark was there… and Jon's unexpected interest in their mission, and his offer to accompany Conrad as a "chaperone," hadn't exactly improved matters.

In the end, Ratchet had promised Lindsey that he would keep Conrad in line, and that they would return home the moment they made contact with the spark in question. She had finally acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, and handed her keys over to Conrad on the condition that he behave himself and come home as soon as they discovered the host. And despite his offer, Jon was not invited to go along for the ride.

Conrad's surly silence continued as he showed his ID and paid his cover charge before heading into the bar, head slouched down as if trying not to be recognized. Since his gaze was mostly pointed toward the floor, Ratchet only got glimpses of the establishment – though what he saw wasn't much different from the middle-of-the-road bars and clubs of Cybertron. The only major difference was the dancers – he doubted organic females in remarkably little clothing would be much of a draw at any establishment in Iacon.

' _All right, which one is it? Point 'em out so we can get out of here.'_ His host practically radiated discomfort and embarrassment as he slunk to a table and sat down. _'Just tell me it's not one of the dancers.'_

_I can't see anything but your feet. You're going to have to look up._

His face flushed hot, and with a mental grumble of annoyance he raised his head.

 _I'll make this quick as I can,_ Ratchet promised, and did a brief scan of the club. The host was here, he could sense that much… but he couldn't get much more than the general direction they were in. And there were so many people in this establishment that he couldn't narrow it down further. It could be the woman currently onstage, wearing a rather ridiculous getup that couldn't properly be called clothes (wasn't the purpose of clothing to cover up the body? He'd never understand humans), or it could be any of the men at the table in front of the stage, all in various stages of intoxication and hooting and laughing obnoxiously. Or it could very well be the surly-looking bouncer who was eyeing the men sternly, as if daring them to try something…

' _Got it yet?'_

_Give me a moment, I can't work miracles._

' _You can obviously transfer souls, why not find them again?'_

_You're never going to let that go, are you-_

A clamor rose up at the table in front of the stage, and Ratchet focused his gaze again to see that the dancer had stumbled and fallen. Two of the men had got up from their seats – whether to help her up or to get a closer look at the upset, he couldn't tell – but the bouncer bellowed for them to sit back down. They grudgingly complied, and just murmured worriedly as the woman sat up, looking dazed and a little green in the face.

 _That must be the one,_ Ratchet realized. _She's showing symptoms._

' _Great. Of course one of them has to be in a stripper. Now how do I get close to her?'_

_That's gonna be the trick… it doesn't look like our friend up there is going to let us get close enough to make contact. Got any suggestions?_

' _Nuh-uh. You got us into this mess, pal. You think of how to get us out.'_

_For Primus' sake, Conrad, I'm trying to save your life here! I'm sorry I got you into this mess, okay? It wasn't my intention! Right now I'm doing my damndest to get you out of this, but I can't do it by myself! I'm going to need your help!_

' _All right, fine! Geez…'_ His gaze returned to the stage… where another dancer was stepping out to take their target's place. _'Aw, crap, she's gone!'_

_Ask the bouncer if she's coming back tonight._

He huffed irritably but stood up and headed for the burly employee, who eyed Conrad suspiciously as he approached.

"Excuse me, sir?" he ventured.

"Aren't you a little young to be here, kid?" the bouncer demanded.

"I'm twenty-one, I swear!" He pulled his driver's license out to confirm it. "I was just wondering if that last dancer's okay… and is she gonna be back tonight?"

The bouncer shook his head. "She's goin' home sick."

"Oh… um, is there any chance I could meet her before she leaves?"

He outright glared at that. "You better not be getting' at what I think you're getting' at, kid. We run a classy establishment here, and our girls don't work 'after-hours.' Get out before I call the cops on you for soliciting sex."

"Oh, crap, no," Conrad groaned. "Look, sir, I didn't mean it like that! I just… I knew her in school, just wanted to talk to her…"

"Haven't heard that one before," the bouncer muttered. "Out. Now."

Conrad nodded and almost ran for the door.

 _Conrad, stop this!_ Ratchet protested. _We still haven't made contact!_

' _After that? There's no way in hell I'm making contact with her now!'_

_You're just going to let her die? We've got to make contact with her and get her on our side! Who knows how badly the spark's affected her by this point!_

' _Like you care, Rat-shit!'_ There was such a pause between the first and last syllables of his name that Ratchet was positive he'd mispronounced it on purpose.

_What did you call me?!_

' _You heard me! And like you really care about anyone but you and your guys…'_

 _Frag right I care!_ Ratchet roared, losing his temper at last. Conrad flinched and stumbled, and the medic belatedly realized maybe he should have been gentler, but there was no going back now.

_Stop being so selfish already! I get it, you hate this! So do I! But for the last time, I didn't do this to you on purpose! And I'm fully prepared to take responsibility should anything happen to you or any of the other hosts! I got everyone into this mess… but I'm going to do everything I can to clean it up. But I can't do it alone… so can you please just forget you hate me long enough to help?_

Conrad sighed deeply. _'Sorry… I don't mean to be so pissy. I'm just tired of all this, I guess. Being sick and running all over town for this… and knowing there's a time limit and if we screw this up people could die… it's stressful. And I guess knowing it was something you did, even if you didn't mean it to turn out like this… I guess I just needed someone to blame.'_

_A scapegoat. Right. Look, kid… I'm sorry for exploding. But it's not just your life at stake here. There are other hosts… and if our hosts die, that means the sparks inside them die as well. After all this is over you can rant at me all you want, okay? Until then, let's put our differences aside and get this done._

' _All right… I can hold you to that, right?'_ A trickle of humor entered his voice, which relieved Ratchet a little. If he could laugh despite everything, then things would be okay.

_Cross my spark. Now let's get out of here. I'm sure that woman's left the club by now; maybe we can track her down._

The night air felt blessedly cool and sweet after the smoky warmth of the club, and Conrad took a deep breath before heading back for the car. Just as he was stepping off the curb, though, he stumbled, vision blurring with a sudden bout of vertigo. Ratchet tried to catch their balance, but that only resulted in their shared body landing on the hood of the car, Conrad retching a few times as he tried to recover.

_Slag… it's happening again._

' _We've… gotta hurry…'_ Conrad groaned mentally, though he made no move to get up again. _'Feels worse this time…'_

_This is precisely why I want us to hurry and track down everyone. I just hope Shockwave's time table is correct… slag, never thought the day would come when I would be trusting the word of a Decepticon…_

Hands grabbed Conrad's shoulders, pulling him upright. He struggled briefly, but any movement made his head swim.

"Had a few too many, chief?" That was a woman's voice, though not one Ratchet was familiar with. "Maybe you shouldn't be driving home. Lemmie call you a cab."

"I'm fine," Conrad groaned, and carefully turned around to face his benefactor. "I don't drink."

"Could've fooled me," the woman replied with a bit of a smirk. "Sure you're gonna be all right?"

Ratchet had to fight back a shout of triumph. This was the woman from the club! The host! And she had contact with Conrad at the moment… contact he couldn't get arrested or kicked for. He'd unwittingly put them in the perfect position.

He didn't waste a moment, and projected his "voice" toward her. _This is Autobot Ratchet-_

_This is Decepticon Skywarp… aw man, ya beat me to it!_

Ratchet expected the woman to react in shock to this development, but to his surprise her smirk turned into a genuine smile. "So… there is another Skywalker."

Conrad frowned in confusion. "What?"

 _Geez, 'Bot, don't your host pay attention to the movies?_ Skywarp asked, snickering. _He should recognize a quote from Star Wars when he hears one._

_She caught him off guard is all. And I never thought I'd say this to a Decepticon, but I'm sure glad to find you._

_I'm just glad that I'm not the only one stuck like this. Um… guess intros are in order, huh? Your human can hear me, right? I'm Skywarp and this is Heather._

"Um… hi Heather," Conrad ventured. "I'm Conrad, and I got stuck with Ratchet."

"Nice to meet you." She let go of his shoulder and took his hand. "You don't mind walking me to the bus stop, do you? I'd feel a lot safer. And maybe you guys can explain to me what's going on while you're at it. You seem to know a lot more than I do."

"You're taking this really well," Conrad noted, falling into step beside her.

"Eh, I had my moment of freaking out over it already. And I guess it could be worse. Skywarp might be annoying sometimes, but he's at least friendly. For a Decepticon, I guess."

 _That's a lousy compliment, but guess it's the best I'm gonna get,_ Skywarp grumped. _All right, Autobot, spill it. What the frag is going on here?_

_It's a long story… just promise not to interrupt me until it's over._

* * *

Conrad supposed that having Angela nearly burst something laughing over his experience at the club was a little better than her being upset with him for hanging out with a stripper. That didn't exactly make it less embarrassing.

"Are you done?" he asked at last.

"A-almost," she gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry… I thought for sure it was one of the customers!"

"Guess we can't be that lucky," he replied. "You have any more luck today?"

"Who's the guy in your dog again? Shredder?"

"Shrapnel."

"I was close. Anyhow, tell him I found one of his buddies – Kickback's in a guy I ran into at the Laundromat. I've got a phone number for him, so whenever we're ready for our big meetup, we can reach him."

"What a coincidence… Heather says she ran into Bombshell the other day. Apparently he's in a lady who works in the children's room of the library."

"What's a stripper doing in the children's room of the library?"

"Not performing," Conrad laughed. "She's got a little daughter, and she takes her to the library for storytimes and to check her e-mail – she can't afford Internet."

"Oh… all right. So that's three more down… who's left?"

"Just Thundercracker, Wheeljack, and Windcharger," Conrad noted. "I probably can't skip another day of work to go hunting, but I'll do what I can after work tomorrow."

Angela went quiet for a moment. "I know life goes on and all… but I'm getting worried, 'Rad. The only reason I found the guy in the Laundromat is because I blacked out again outside it and he came running out to help me. I'm worried that if we don't hurry with this, someone's going to end up really hurt."

Conrad sighed. "I know… Heather says it's affecting her job performance, and even if it's a bad job she really can't afford to be fired. Do you think this is bad enough that we should quit work? Make looking for the others a full-time thing?"

"Well… Starscream certainly thinks so. But I'd like to know I have a job to come back to after we're sure we're not gonna die." She sighed deeply. "I gotta go. Dad wants to talk. See you at work tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. Oh, one more thing… we gonna tell Zack and Fielding about this?"

"I dunno… maybe we'd better. I know they don't have sparks, but maybe they can help us. And since they've got family members with sparks, maybe it'd be for the best. They're going to think we're completely mental, though…"

"Zack's got no right to talk about being completely mental," Conrad pointed out. "I'll talk to him if you handle Fielding, all right?"

"Deal. See you tomorrow night."

"Take care." He hung up.

 _So… are we still good?_ Ratchet sounded hesistant.

' _Yeah… we're good. Sorry I blew up at you.'_

_I'm sorry too. For… well, for all this. If I had known making a deal with Primus would have ended up like this, I never would have struck a bargain with him. I didn't mean to get you mixed up in this, or to risk your life._

Conrad chewed his lip in thought. He wasn't exactly proud of himself for getting pissy with Ratchet earlier. It had been a knee-jerk reaction, the result of a few days' worth of frustration and fear building up to a bursting point. Now that he'd vented his feelings, though, he regretted it severely. Ratchet had been practically bending over backward to get himself out of his body before his spark energies did serious damage, and Conrad's response had been to tell him off and insult him.

' _You know,'_ he thought-said at last, _'maybe there's a reason for it.'_

_Beg pardon?_

' _Well, you said Primus did this. Maybe he had a reason for it. He's a god, right? And there's that saying that God works in mysterious ways. What if he's got his own reasons for putting your spark in me, and the sparks of the others in everyone else? Maybe it was the only way to keep you alive, or maybe something's coming up that you need to be in an organic form for. Or something else, I dunno.'_

Ratchet went quiet at that. _You know… that would explain it._

' _Explain what?'_

_That first night I was in your head, Primus spoke to me again. Though I'm not sure if 'spoke' is the correct term._

' _What do you mean?'_

_From my contact with Primus, I got the impression that he either can't or won't speak with regular language. Our exchange was… more primal, I guess. Pure thought and emotion being exchanged instead of words. But that second contact with him… if I had to put it into words, it would have to be "my ways are not your ways." Very similar to your "mysterious ways" comment._

' _Huh… so he's gotta have a reason for this.'_

_He must, though frag if I know what it is. Optimus would have a better idea than I do – as a Prime, he's closer to Primus than any mech alive. Tomorrow when Jon's awake, I'd like to talk to him in more detail._

' _That and he did mention he found Thundercracker earlier. With his and Jon's help maybe we can find her.'_

_Exactly. Then I want to get to the bottom of this, and fast. For your sake as well as ours._

* * *

_So it has come to this._

It had been three days since that pivotal battle at Autobot City… and the upending of the entire world as the Decepticons knew it. Within that timespan, a mere flicker of an optic shutter to a being who could live for millions of years, it seemed like their fortunes had abruptly turned. Not only had the Autobots survived the crushing blow of losing their beloved leader, but they had already christened a new Prime and retaken Cybertron, albeit with the inadvertent aid of Unicron's attack. The Decepticons had gone from ruling their homeworld to being cast out from it, given the option of a forcible reprogramming or exile.

Cyclonus had chosen exile, and taken the remainder of Megatron's troops with him. Even now, the ragtag army made their way through the blackness of space, following the lavender jetformer as he led them who-knew-where. No one trusted Cyclonus, but in the wake of Megatron's death and Galvatron's disappearance no one knew quite what else to do.

Privately Soundwave thought this was a bad idea. Cyclonus had not yet proven to be fit for command, and his fanatical devotion to Galvatron hinted at an unstable personality. Megatron might have had his fits of rage and egomania, but at least he had been a fairly stable leader and kept the Decepticons from fracturing into a dozen warring factions. Cyclonus hadn't even been able to do that – in the wake of the Battle of Unicron what remained of the Decepticon forces had split apart, and the other factions had either vanished or gone over to the Autobots.

Soundwave wasn't about to point out the mech's shortcomings to his faceplate, however. He might have been loyal to Megatron, even with the silver mech's demise, but he wasn't stupid either. Better to hold his vocalizer and plot his own methods of regrouping and solidifying the Decepticon forces…

"How much farther?" demanded Blitzwing. "Where the frag are we going anyhow?"

"To find Galvatron," Cyclonus said simply. "Shut up."

"Galvatron's dead!" Thrust snapped. "What, are we hunting a ghost?"

"Galvatron is not so easily destroyed," Cyclonus retorted. "We will find him, and he will restore the Decepticons to their proper place as rulers of Cybertron. Until then, you will be silent."

Thrust snorted. "How can you be so sure?"

"I said silent!" Cyclonus barked.

"All right, all right, Primus," he grumbled. "What crawled up your vocalizers and died?"

Soundwave suppressed the urge to sigh as he trailed in the lavender mech's wake. His comrades were going to get themselves killed if they kept making idiotic remarks. Frankly, it was a miracle any of them had survived this far…

_Soundwave._

The communication's officer frowned behind his mask. Someone was trying to contact him… but not on any of his regular communications wavelengths. This was a telepathic contact, and he swore it felt familiar. Yet there was a touch of something alien behind it, something not quite Cybertronian… and it felt incredibly faint, as if the speaker were trying to project their thoughts across a vast distance. Strange… there was only one being who had ever been able to communicate with him over a distance, and only because they had worked together for so long… but it couldn't be…

_Identify yourself._

_This is Lord Megatron._

His visor whited out briefly in shock. Then he regained his composure and spoke back. _Impossible. Megatron is deactivated._

_My body was deactivated, but my spark lives on. I cannot explain it… but enough of this. I haven't much time before you pass out of range…_

_Proof of Megatron's identity: required._ This had to be a hoax, some aspiring telepath's idea of a sick joke. And yet… he couldn't deny that the mind of the speaker felt so much like…

_Fine, then. The Nexus Event on Neo-Kaon, date 78433-23-7, during the Battle of Kaibarr. I pulled your slagging aft out of a plasma pit and patched you and Ravage up, though Squawkbox was too far gone to save._

Hope flared in Soundwave's spark for the first time since the Battle of Autobot City. _Megatron's identity confirmed. How is this possible?_

_Somehow my spark was ejected from my chassis and found its way into an organic body._

_Improbable… but possible. Location of new body requested._

_In a human male on that miserable dirt world Earth. And I'm not the only one – others have survived, including Starscream and Shockwave. Not to mention the infernal Autobots killed at Autobot City, including that wretched Prime… but we will remedy that._ A pause. _What is the situation for the Decepticons?_

 _Situation: critical._ He almost fired off an information packet, but halted just in time. Megatron was trapped in an organic shell now, and there was no telling how a sudden flood of data would affect a human brain. He would have to summarize as best he could…

_Unicron attacked Cybertron. Widespread destruction of Decepticon cities and forces. Autobots now control the planet. Cyclonus now leads Decepticons._

_He hasn't even established a base of operations yet? Idiot. No matter… he will be removed from power soon enough._

_Affirmative. Your orders, Lord Megatron?_

_Play along with this Cyclonus for now. But return to Earth in two days' time for an update on the situation. We should have identified every organic who carries a spark by then… and I should have full control of my host's body by that point. We WILL triumph, despite these circumstances._

_Yes, Lord Megatron._ Already Soundwave felt far more confident about their current situation. This wasn't the first time Megatron had taken charge of an absurd situation and managed to turn it around for the Decepticons' gain. Perhaps these circumstances were a bit more bizarre than some, but he had utmost faith that their leader could manipulate them to their advantage.

And if Optimus Prime and his troops were now trapped in weak flesh bodies… they'd be that much easier to eliminate.

 _You're passing out of range,_ Megatron noted. _Remember – two days. Do whatever it takes to get back here._

_Yes, Lord Megatron. I will not fail you._


	11. Chapter 11

"Hey 'Rad, it's for you!" Zack called out, holding up the phone. "Maybe it's your girlfriend!" He said that last in a singsong voice, like a younger sibling taunting him over a crush.

"Yeah, announce it in front of the entire store, you dork," Conrad muttered. "Come see what's wrong with this Xbox while I take it, will you?"

"Roger, boss." Zack set the phone down on the counter and went to check on the ailing display console. Conrad just rolled his eyes and went to take the call. For all he liked Zack, there were times he wished he shared shifts with Fielding instead. Zack's goofiness could be annoying in large doses, especially now when it felt like he was forcing it for weirdness' sake.

 _And I'm sure Angela NEVER wishes she shared shifts with Zack instead of Fielding,_ Ratchet noted dryly.

' _You've never even met Fielding, shut up.'_

_I've overheard enough to guess, and I'm guessing he's not the most interesting of people._

' _Depends on your definition of interesting. When he's telling stories about his mission in Africa or talking about games or My Little Pony he's interesting enough, but most of the time he's just kinda… there. Bland and ordinary.'_

_An adult male liking My Little Pony isn't exactly ordinary._

' _You'd be surprised how many adult males like My Little Pony.'_ He picked up the phone. "Angry Duck Games, Conrad speaking."

"I found Thunderbucket!"

Well, that was random. Or at least it would have been random had the speaker announced that to Zack first thing instead of waiting for Conrad to pick up the phone. "Um… who is this?"

"Oh, sorry, I got overexcited there… this is Chandra. You know, the girl with Ironhide?"

"Yeah, I remember you." He'd have a hard time forgetting either of his encounters with the girl, whether it was the constant barrage of movie questions or that kicking incident. "Pri- I mean Jon says he came across Thundercracker at one point, but he didn't get a name or anything."

"Oh, right, that's his name. I keep forgetting it."

"How hard is it to remember a name like Thundercracker?"

"Oh, shut up, like you've never done anything stupid before. Like, I dunno, try to grab a random girl on the street. You're lucky I didn't have pepper spray, creeper."

 _Nice girl,_ Ratchet grumbled.

' _At least we only have to deal with her over the phone.'_ "Were you able to tell his… companion what's going on?" He had almost said "host," but with Zack obviously trying to eavesdrop on the conversation he knew he was going to have to be careful what he said.

"That's the trick – she's Hispanic. She works at that family-owned Mexican place near the Winco. She doesn't speak a lot of English, but between my high-school Spanish and the little bit she does know, I got the point across."

He just hoped she'd managed to tell the woman what was going on instead of confusing her even further. High school language courses only went so far, after all. "Did you get her a phone number to call? Just in case she finds… others?"

"I gave her my cell number. Oh, her name's Roderiga. She's a nice girl, but kinda skittery. I think this whole experience is kinda freaking her out. Her family even thought she was possessed and tried to call a priest in to exorcise her, but Thundersnapper told the guy off and I guess she hasn't been allowed back at church since. Poor girl."

_Poor girl indeed… seems having sparks in people is causing a lot more damage than just sickness._

Conrad nodded. He realized he was pretty fortunate that Ratchet had only been an annoyance so far, and that his mom had been fairly okay with things. Now one of their number's job was being threatened, and another's family was convinced she was being taken over by a malevolent force. Though if she had a Decepticon stuck in her head, he supposed they weren't that far off, even if he doubted an exorcism would do anything against a spark.

"Keep us updated if you find anyone else. Windcharger and Wheeljack are still out there."

"Got it. When're we meeting up?"

"Once we find the others. Stay in touch, all right?"

"Gotcha. Hey, is Fielding there? The hot one? Can you put him on the phone?"

"Goodbye, Chandra." He hung up. _'Geez, her life's being threatened by a living wad of energy and she's obsessed with boys.'_

 _It's not like your lives are going on hold because of this. I just wonder how Ironhide's putting up with it._ Ratchet sounded rather perversely amused at that.

"Who's Chandra?"

Conrad glowered at Zack. "None of your business, and stop eavesdropping on my phone calls."

"Is she your new girlfriend?" Zack teased. "You dump Angela for someone else? Here I was thinking she was your Sloan Peterson."

"My what?"

"Dude, you totally don't remember _Ferris Beuller's Day Off?_ You told me years ago you had the biggest crush on her! So when you and Angela started going together, I figured she was your Sloan Peterson."

"I tell you once that I think a girl in a movie is kinda hot and you assume it means I wanna marry her. You're worse than a teenage girl, dude."

"Hey, a guy can't have a little fun at a friend's expense? Who's Chandra anyhow?"

"Just a friend."

"That's how it always starts."

"Shut up."

"Dude, lighten up a bit. I swear, you've been weird lately…"

The phone rang again, and this time Conrad grabbed the receiver before Zack could snatch it. "Angry Duck Games, this is Conrad, how can I help you?"

"Conner?"

"Hi Mom, what's up?"

She wasted no time in getting to the point. "I've called your father. He's expecting you after work today."

"What? Mom!"

"Don't 'what, Mom' me, Conner. Your father's got a right to know what's going on, and I knew you'd just say 'I'll tell him later' and then conveniently forget about it. So I called him and told him you needed to talk to him, and he's inviting you to dinner tonight."

"So why doesn't he just call and do the inviting?" asked Conrad.

"Because he was sure you'd turn down the invitation. Look, I know you don't like him. And I don't exactly blame you, given what he's done to this family. But he did help raise you, and for that he deserves to know what's happening. Even if it's strange."

"He's never going to believe me."

"Then fine, he doesn't believe you. That's his choice. He still needs to know his son's… sick, for lack of a better term. Even if it's not sick in the ordinary ways."

Conrad blew out a sigh. "Fine, I'll go. But if this goes south, I'm blaming you."

"You do that. Oh, and Jon left this morning, just to warn you. Said something about needing to hunt down cans."

"That's how he gets money for food, I guess. Did you tell him that wasn't necessary?"

"He wouldn't listen to me. I guess old habits die hard even for him. But I'm sure he'll be back."

"I sure hope so. Don't want anything to happen to him, and not just because of… extenuating circumstances."

"I'm sure he knows how to take care of himself by now. But I told him to come right back instead of returning to the streets. Hopefully either he listens or Prime does." A quick pause. "All right, I have to run here. Take care, and I expect to NOT see you after work today, at least until later tonight."

"Love you too, Mom," he mumbled. "Take care too." He hung up and looked over at Zack, who was giving him a weird look. "What?"

"You're going to a guy's house for dinner?" asked Zack. "Is there something you're not telling me here? Is Angela your 'beard' or something?"

"Dude, I'm going to my father's house for dinner," Conrad told him. "Get your head out of the gutter for five minutes, why don't you."

"Ohhhhh… right."

"Though since we're on the subject of fathers…" There was going to be no good way to do this, he figured, and the best way to broach the subject with someone like Zack was to be direct about it. "I need to talk to you about your dad."

Zack blinked. "What about him?"

"First off, is he still in the hospital? And second off, is he still acting weird?"

"He's been home for a couple days now," Zack replied. "Still as grouchy and stubborn as ever – I swear he almost bit a nurse's hand off when she tried to offer to push his wheelchair out the door. But he's acting as normal as he ever does, even with an alien ghost in his head."

Conrad almost dropped the game cartridge he'd picked up to shelve. "Did you say… alien ghost?"

"Huh? Oh, whoops, did I say that out loud?" Zack grinned sheepishly. "Uh, yeah, that's what he says, but he could just be loopy from the drugs still…"

Conrad reached out and grabbed Zack's wrist. _'All right, Ratchet, do your thing.'_

 _What am I, a trained circus electro-pony?_ Ratchet grumbled, but he addressed Zack anyhow. _This is Ratchet of the Autobots, a comrade of Brawn, the Autobot your father currently plays host to. And I can assure you the "alien ghost" phenomenon is not a side effect of any drugs, but all too real._

Zack stared at Conrad a moment, then grinned enthusiastically. "Wow, you too! Angie didn't say a thing about you having one too!"

"How long have you known?" Conrad asked. "And why didn't you say anything earlier?"

"Since Angie visited my dad in the hospital. And dude, you think I'm going to run around blabbing that my dad's talking to a robot ghost? They'd either lock him up in a psych ward or lock me up in a psych ward. Or both. And I don't see YOU advertising it either."

 _Point,_ Ratchet acknowledged. _What else did Angela and Starscream tell you?_

"Not much," Zack confessed. "Just that they were looking for others and that we're on a time limit. And that Brawn's the reason why he keeps passing out at odd times – spark sickness, I guess we're calling it. And that we're trying to get everyone with a spark rounded up and get in touch with Autobot City to get you guys out of our heads. Did I get everything?"

_Pretty much. Sounds like those two were pretty thorough._

"They were with my dad, at least, and he gave me the rundown after Angie left. Guess you guys weren't expecting him to talk to me afterwards? He and I might fight, but we at least talk."

Conrad sighed. "That's true… I guess I forget that not everyone has a sucky relationship with their father."

"Dude, you've got spark sickness and an alien ghost in your head, and you're gonna angst about your crappy daddy issues? What's wrong with you? You're like that guy in a monster movie who complains that Godzilla attacking is going to mess up traffic and make him late for work."

"Lovely analogy, dude."

"It's true. Besides, 'Rad, don't we have other things to worry about? Like, I dunno, finding the rest of the sparks before you and Angie and my dad croak?"

"How about you two worry about shutting your traps and getting back to work?!" Mr. Jakobson snapped, emerging from behind a display to glower at the two young men.

"Sir!" Conrad yelped, scrambling for some means to cover their conversation. "Uh… we were just…"

"I heard," Mr. Jakobson griped, "and you can discuss your weird LARP game outside of work time. Hawkins, back to the register. Bowen, come in the back and help me test that Game Cube we got in yesterday."

"Coming." Zack turned and saluted Conrad. "New RP session tomorrow at the park, Rad. Bring your boffer sword and dice." He winked. "And good luck with your dad tonight."

"Thanks," Conrad replied. "I'm gonna need it."

_What the frag is an LARP, and why do you need a sword for it?_

' _It's a long story, and Zack probably knows more about it than I do. He's into DnD and all that stuff, just didn't take him for an LARPer before.'_

_DnD? You're losing me here._

' _Seriously, you giant robots need more culture and games. Maybe that's why you have all these wars – you guys are just freaking bored.'_

_Har har. Start explaining._

* * *

Conrad had been standing in front of his father's new house for fifteen minutes, and he still couldn't work up the nerve to go inside. He'd been pacing the sidewalk instead, wondering what exactly he was going to say, even wondering if he'd be able to address the man without punching him in the face. Bryan Hawkins had been out of his life for a couple years now, and made no effort to contact him in all that time. If he couldn't be bothered to call his own son, was it even worth trying to talk to him now?

A few other factors weren't exactly helping matters. The house itself felt like a slap in the face, incredibly enough. After the divorce his mom had ended up with the house he'd grown up in, but she had struggled to keep it in the aftermath of legal fees and trying to find employment again after several years of being a stay-at-home mom. Dad, meanwhile, had just gone out and put a down payment on another house in a fancier neighborhood – even taking child support payments into account, he still made enough to cover the cost. Somehow that felt unfair, and even if Conrad knew it was a petty reason to be mad, it didn't quell his resentment much.

That, and it wasn't just his father he'd be facing tonight. His stepmom would be in there too, and from what his mom had said she was only a few years older than Conrad. She wasn't the same woman who had broken up his parents' marriage, but still, he didn't know if he could look at her without seeing her as his mom's replacement in his father's eyes.

The final factor turned out to be Ratchet himself – he sensed a spark in that house. And Conrad found himself unexpectedly irritated at the thought of his father being a host too.

_You're going to wear a groove in the sidewalk if you keep this up, Conrad._

' _Better out here than in there.'_

_Come on, you have to face him sometime. If nothing else, you have to tell him what's going on. Especially if we know this is going to affect him too._

' _I just… don't know if I can face him. It's been years…'_

_You can do this, Conrad. You're tougher than you realize. Look at all you've been through and all you've managed to do in the past few days alone. Slag, you've faced down Megatron, Shockwave, and Starscream of all beings! After facing those three, your father should be a walk in the park._

Easy for him to say. But he supposed there wasn't any more point in delaying this any longer. He'd promised Mom he was going to do this, and he'd better get it over with. And if nothing else, it would mean finding one of the last two sparks. Bracing himself, he climbed the front steps, sidestepped a rather hideous lion statue on the porch, and knocked on the door.

From inside the house he heard a dog bark, then footsteps… and the door swung open, revealing a man about Conrad's height and with the same dark hair and gray eyes that seemed to run in the men in their family. Funny, Conrad imagined he'd look pretty much the same as he had the last time they'd seen each other face to face. But the elder Hawkins looked a bit more haggard, more gray in his hair and more lines in his face.

"Conrad… hi." A smile lit up his face, but his voice sounded hesitant and wary. "Come on in."

Conrad offered a tight smile in return, not sure he trusted himself to talk yet, and entered the house. Right away the difference between the house he shared with his mom and his dad's house struck him – he and his mom lived in comfortable clutter, the house decorated in a style his mom liked to call "early American garage sale." His dad's house was immaculate, probably due to hiring a cleaning service or even a maid, and the furniture all looked brand new and, if not top-of-the-line, at least pretty high end. The living room boasted a large river-rock fireplace and a flat-screen TV almost as big as the fireplace, and a beautiful painting of what appeared to be a cattle roundup hung over the mantle.

"Corky's around here somewhere," Dad told him. "He's Olivia's corgi. He's friendly, but he likes to lick, so watch your hands."

Conrad nodded, still not sure what to say. Part of him wanted to tell the man off for not even bothering to talk to him or for abandoning their family, but he knew that would run completely counter to what they were trying to accomplish here. But it seemed weird to just tell his dad he was sick right off the bat – and that he, too, could be dying of the exact same thing.

_He's not._

' _Not what?'_

_Not dying of the same thing. He's not a host._

"So um, this was kind of out of the blue," Dad said, cutting in before Conrad could react to Ratchet's announcement. "Nothing for two years and then you want to have dinner with me. Is there a special reason?"

Conrad frowned, his dad's words finally sparking him to say something back. "I need a special reason to see my father? Especially when you haven't even bothered to contact me either? The phone works both ways, Dad!"

"Look, after the blowup we had during our last conversation, I figured you didn't want to hear from me for awhile," Dad protested. "Maybe I shouldn't have pushed you so hard to give up your music, but I thought I was doing the right thing. And after everything died down I didn't know where to step, so I just… figured I'd let you make the first move. That if you still wanted a relationship with your father, you'd come forward and say something. But you didn't… so I stayed quiet. Maybe that wasn't the smartest decision."

"You think?" Conrad snapped. "It just made me feel like you didn't even want to be my father! And after you walked out on us once already, how was I supposed to take it?"

Dad winced at the accusation. "I'm sorry, Conrad… I'm sorry I cut off contact with you. And I'm sorry I walked out on you, in your own words. Your mother and I had been having problems for a long time before… before my indiscretion. That doesn't make what I did any better, of course… but maybe it was better for you and your mom that I left. It would have done a lot more damage if I'd stuck around and you had to grow up in a household that fought all the time."

Conrad sighed deeply. "It still doesn't make it feel any better. How would you have liked it if Grandpa cheated on Grandma, ran off with a younger woman, and stopped talking to you after you refused to stop pursuing your dream career?"

"I probably would be upset with him too," he acknowledged. "Look… I'm not expecting you to forget everything that's happened. Just… just know that I'm sorry. And maybe we can find a way to put this all behind us?" He offered a tentative smile. "Please?"

Conrad wanted to say no. His gut still churned with anger and resentment, and some stubborn part of him wanted to hang on to those feelings, to insist his father deserved his hatred. But he hadn't exactly expected to come here and hear an apology – part of him had rather expected his father to pick up their last fight where they'd left it off, actually. And hearing his father still cared about how he felt, and was sorry for his actions, was surprising but a little gratifying.

"I'm gonna need some time," he said at last.

Dad nodded. "Whatever time you need. But are we still on for dinner?"

"Yeah, I guess." He shuffled from foot to foot. "There's still something I need to tell you."

"Oh? Your mom was rather fuzzy on the details, but if it's bad enough for her to call me…"

"Dinner's ready, you two!" someone called out from the next room, and a woman Conrad didn't recognize walked in. "Why, hello there! You must be Conner. I don't think we've been formally introduced. I'm Theresa… I guess I'm your stepmom."

Conrad just stared in response, taking this woman in. He realized his mom's estimate of Theresa's age was off – that "only a few years older than him" looked more like "about ten years older than him," to be honest. She looked to be of Asian heritage (Chinese? Japanese? He felt like an idiot for not being able to tell the difference), with shoulder-length black hair and dark eyes. And she was about a head shorter than him, meaning she had to crane her neck slightly to make eye contact with him.

But something else entirely caught his eye… just as Ratchet made an announcement.

 _She's the host,_ he realized.

' _Yeah, and she's also pregnant,'_ Conrad pointed out. _'This is just nuts.'_

_Primus below… let's just hope the baby isn't affected by all this._

"Hey, you all right, Conner?" Dad asked. "You're kind of spacing out there."

"Um… I'm fine," Conrad replied. "Maybe we'd better talk about this over dinner…"

 _Should I be offended that I was the last one on your list to be found?_ Wheeljack asked, though he sounded amused rather than upset.

_Oh hush. We weren't going in any particular order. And you're not the last one, we're still trying to track down Windcharger._

"This is so weird," Theresa noted.

"I've heard stranger," Conrad assured her.

Dad just nodded dumbly, still looking like he'd just been hit with a board. He hadn't said a word since Ratchet had introduced himself and gotten a response, and the medic hoped the poor man hadn't just short-circuited something in shock. Though his face looked similar enough to Prowl's when he suffered a logic processor meltdown that it was hard not to laugh as well.

Wheeljack… his old friend was alive. Somehow running into the engineer was more a boost to his ego than even finding Optimus Prime's spark. Having their leader back was a tactical advantage, to be sure, but knowing one of his closest friends had survived that terrible battle, albeit under weird circumstances, gave him renewed hope that they could beat this strange ordeal once and for all. And finding that Wheeljack and his host had actually taken fairly well to each other, neither freaking out over their situation, was an added bonus.

At the moment the three humans sat around a dining table, holding hands as if about to engage in a bizarre religious ritual. It was the only way Ratchet and Wheeljack could communicate with everyone at once, and so far it seemed to be working well. Not that Mr. Hawkins had a whole lot to add to the conversation – he still couldn't seem to get past the fact that his wife and son were both playing host to Cybertronian sparks.

"'Jack's actually been very sweet," Theresa said. "Very understanding with this whole thing. He does tend to ask a lot of questions, though."

 _Somehow that doesn't surprise me,_ Ratchet replied. _You haven't been pestering her, have you?_

 _Naw, not at all!_ Wheeljack insisted. _But can ya blame a mech for bein' curious? This is an unprecedented opportunity to learn more about organics! If only Perceptor were around to tell all this to… it's amazing how their biological systems have adapted! They've got an entire system in here dedicated entirely to reproduction, including building their own young…_

"Can we skip the details?" asked Conrad. "We are at the dinner table."

 _Okay, okay, but it's still pretty amazing!_ Wheeljack would not be deterred – evidently he'd seen his situation not as a nightmare, but as an object of fascination. And when something caught his attention, it would take nothing short of an explosion to break his concentration.

_Wheeljack, we've got more important things…_

_But think of all the potential things we could learn from this! If I could stick around in here for another month, I could actually witness the birth! Though that does beg the question on if I'm really in her body or if I'm in the kid's… or if my spark would be transferred into the kid's body when it's born. Wouldn't that be somethin', the first Cybertronian in a purely organic body._

Theresa looked horrified at the thought, and Ratchet sensed it was time to put a stop to this.

 _Wheeljack, shut the frag up!_ he snapped. _One more word out of you on the subject and I'm rebuilding you as a trash compactor when I get my body back!_

Wheeljack gave a mental snort. _Happy to see you too, Doctor Doom._

_It's not that I'm not glad to hear from you again – I am. It's that we're running on a time limit here, and if we don't get you out of that body, it could mean death for all of us._

Mr. Hawkins went even paler. "She's… she's going to die?"

"Sparks aren't meant to be in organic bodies," Conrad explained. "I've started having weird dizzy spells, and others are having blackouts. We've only got about another week, tops. Which is why Ratchet and I have been trying to track everyone with a spark down."

"I thought I was just getting morning sickness again," Theresa murmured. "This isn't going to hurt the baby, is it?"

 _I honestly don't know, ma'am,_ Ratchet told her regretfully. _I wish I could tell you with full confidence that your child is going to be all right. At this point we can only wait and see._

She teared up at that, but she nodded. "W-what do we do now?"

"Find the last spark, Windcharger," Conrad replied. "Then Prime suggests we contact Autobot City and see if they can help us. We were thinking of having some kind of meetup beforehand, though, to discuss what's going on and seeing if anyone has any clue as to what might be happening to us."

 _I ain't got a clue,_ Wheeljack confessed, _but I'll contribute what I can._

 _That's all we ask,_ Ratchet told him. _Theresa, can we contact you when the time is right?_

"Of course… and Ratchet?"

_Hmm?_

"Take good care of Conrad, will you? I know I'm not his mother, but he is technically family. Just keep him out of trouble, if you can."

Ratchet felt the young man's face warm up at that. "Um… thanks. I came here all prepared to hate you for taking my mom's place… but I really can't. You're pretty nice. And you're gonna have my half-brother or half-sister soon, so that makes us even more family, I guess."

"Well, thank you for giving me the benefit of the doubt," she replied sincerely. "And I hope you stop by and visit more often. Your half-sister deserves to know her big brother."

"I will." He looked over at Mr. Hawkins, who still wore a stunned expression. "Um… take care of my dad, will you? He kinda looks like he needs it."

"Oh, I will."

Mr. Hawkins remained remarkably quiet during the rest of the dinner, not doing much more than reacting to the others' comments and rather dazedly helping everyone fill their plates. He did manage to recover from his shock enough to say goodbye to his son, and though it didn't seem their relationship had recovered enough for the two to exchange a hug, he did shake Conrad's hand as he headed out the door, and told him not to be a stranger. And to Ratchet's surprise, Conrad seemed agreeable to the request.

_So… does this fix things?_

' _Not entirely,'_ Conrad confessed as he headed for the lamppost where he'd locked up his bike. _'But it's a start. We're still not gonna agree on a lot of things. But I think I'm okay with that.'_

_Good. At least one good thing has come from this mess, then… aw frag._

' _What, what's going… aw nuts.'_

Conrad's bike was dead ahead, still chained to the lamppost… but a patrol car was pulled over next to the curb close by, and a uniformed officer was just getting out. Evidently there was some sort of local law about locking your bicycle to a lamppost, though why Ratchet had no clue.

_Is crime low enough in this area that the police have to fuss about how people park?_

' _This is Provo, not Hell's Kitchen. I'm sure the cops here get bored and look for some way to pass the time.'_ He sighed deeply. _'Let's just hope he lets me off with a warning this time. Tickets are expensive.'_

The officer walked around the car to stand by the bike, and he waved Conrad over. Immediately Ratchet felt a buzz of energy, a sensation that had become all too familiar over the past week. Could they really have so easily found the last spark?

' _Ratch? You okay in there?'_

_That's Windcharger! That's the last of us!_

Conrad blinked in surprise. ' _Well, that sure didn't take long… I guess we go make contact. Let's hope a cop is a little more reasonable about this than some of the hosts we've had to talk to…'_


	12. Chapter 12

With a sigh Conrad turned off the vacuum cleaner and went to wind up the cord, satisfied that the rug was as clean as it was ever going to be without the help of a steam cleaner. It would do for now, he supposed. He just hoped that none of their impending guests was allergic to dog hair – having a big dog around meant that no amount of housecleaning would ever totally clear the house of loose fur. The fact that Gandalf was in the middle of a good shed at the moment didn't help matters.

"I think we're done!" he called into the kitchen. "Everything's straightened and ready!"

"Did you clean the bathroom?" she called back.

"Jon's working on that. He said it was the least he could do in return for everything."

"Did you dust?"

"Yes, Mom."

"Did you move furniture and vacuum under it?"

"Mom, it's not like the President's coming over for dinner. It's just an emergency meeting."

"There's a Prime, a military commander, and at least one renowned scientist," she replied, walking in from the kitchen. "That's close enough in my opinion. Besides, I don't want your stepmom going home to your father and complaining about how I keep house."

"She doesn't care, Mom."

"You'd be surprised. Though maybe she'll hit the nesting stage and want to clean house for me while she's here." She laughed at that. "I fixed snacks for everyone. Did you check to see if they have dietary restrictions?"

"Mom, you didn't have to do that. People are here to talk about what to do next, not have dinner."

"I just want to be a good hostess," she insisted, and headed back into the kitchen. "I'm putting in cookies. Hope everyone likes snickerdoodles."

Ratchet laughed. _Your mom's a good woman, Conrad. You should be proud of her._

' _I may gripe about her once in awhile, but I know she's awesome. I just think it's kind of funny how she's acting like its Thanksgiving or something.'_

_She's probably keeping busy as a distraction from what's going on. She knows your future depends on us finding a way out of your bodies. Maybe she thinks we're not going to find anything, and she's trying to distract herself from that possibility._

' _Huh… didn't think about that.'_

Jon emerged from the bathroom at that moment, wiping his hands. "Phew, done. Days as a janitor paid off."

"You worked as a janitor?" Conrad asked, going to put the vacuum away.

"Yeah, on and off. Never was able to keep a stable job. After the war, I started seein' lizards everywhere, and they always seemed to pop up in weird places. Even schools." He sighed and went to sit on the couch. "Tried to warn superintendents, but all that ever got me was a 'go see a shrink' note and a pink slip."

Conrad frowned. How was he going to put this tactfully? "Did you ever consider taking their advice?"

"Are you kiddin'? Half the shrinks out there are either lizards or in on the conspiracy and out to keep the public from findin' out. Don't you start in on that either."

"Ah… I'm sorry, Jon. I just want what's best for you is all. I consider you a friend."

He smiled slightly. "Means a lot to me, kid. And don't you worry about me. I'll be all right. Well, all right once we've got the sparks out."

The doorbell rang, and Gandalf began howling in response.

"Aw, shut up, Chewbacca," Conrad muttered, and headed for the front door to open it.

"Hey, 'Rad," Angela greeted. "Move aside, I brought a crowd. Figured it'd be best if we carpooled here."

"Smart thinking." Conrad stepped back as Angela walked in, four other women in tow. He recognized Chandra and Heather, the latter holding a toddler in her arms, but not the other two – a pretty Hispanic girl still in a waitress uniform, and an older woman with glasses and a neatly bobbed haircut, who wore a colorful blouse and slacks and a necklace that looked to be made of miniature books. The waitress gave a shy smile, while the other woman clasped his hand and shook it enthusiastically.

"Pleasure to meet you!" she gushed. "I'm Sharon Fisher, children's librarian!"

"I figured as much," Conrad said with a chuckle. "Conrad Hawkins. I work retail."

"Charmed," she replied. She paused a moment, head cocked to one side. "Bombshell, aren't you going to introduce yourself?"

 _All right, all right, Primus,_ a growly, high-pitched voice grumbled. _Name's Bombshell. Insecticon. You happy now, lady?_

 _Be nice to your host, 'Con,_ Ratchet advised. _You wouldn't be here without her, you know._

_Oh, shut up. It's you 'Bots' fault we're in this mess anyhow._

Conrad actually felt Ratchet flinch a bit at that. He didn't say anything, though – Ratchet had kicked himself enough over his role in all this, and he didn't feel like bringing it up again, especially with a Decepticon eavesdropping. He let go of Sharon's hand and pointed into the living room.

"Why don't you all sit down while we wait for everyone else?" he invited. "It's gonna be kind of crowded, I'll warn you. But we'll try to make it comfortable for you."

Sharon nodded and headed for the living room. Chandra exchanged some hesitant Spanish with Rodriga, translating the invitation for her, and the two of them followed after the librarian.

"Could we put on a movie or something for Bailey while we wait?" asked Heather, shifting the toddler in her arms. "I don't want her to get bored and start tearing up your house or harassing your dog."

"We don't have a lot of kids' movies," Conrad confessed. "Does she like Disney, though?"

"Disney would be wonderful. Do you have _Toy Story?"_

"I'll get that cued up for you," Angela told her. "You mind, 'Rad?"

"Not at all," he replied, just as the doorbell went off again. "I'll go let the next group in."

While the women got situated in the living room, Conrad went to the door and opened it again. "Hey, Zach."

"'Sup?" Zach greeted. "Dad, I don't think you've met my co-worker before. This is Conrad, 'Rad for short."

"Hi, Mr. Bowen," Conrad greeted, and held out his hand.

Mr. Bowen looked Conrad over with a critical eye, as if wanting to judge his character before allowing their hands to come in contact. The most Conrad had known about the elder Bowen was that he was a lawyer, confined to a wheelchair, and something of a grouch if Zach was to be believed. Looking at him now, he could certainly believe "grouch" part – his face looked frozen in a permanent scowl, his jaw set firmly as if determined to be displeased by whatever he found. He must have come straight from work judging by the suit – either that or he always dressed like that, which was certainly possible.

"Conrad," Mr. Bowen said finally.

"I'm sorry?"

"I'm calling you Conrad," Mr. Bowen explained. "It's a perfectly respectable name, no reason to shorten it to something a surfer dude would use." He grasped Conrad's hand in a strong grip. "Stanley Bowen. You can call me Stanley or Mr. Bowen, but never Stan, you hear?"

 _How'd this fellow get stuck with Brawn?_ Ratchet wondered. _Seems to me he'd be better off with Prowl or Gears._

 _You're telling me,_ Brawn grumbled. _Seven billion humans on this dirtball and I get the hardnose._

 _You haven't been giving this gentleman a hard time over his… situation, have you?_ Ratchet demanded, suspicion coloring his voice.

_Of course not!_

"Don't believe a word he says," Mr. Bowen retorted. "Blasted robot won't stop complaining about why I won't get my legs fixed. Not even a biology lesson shut him up."

"They're robots, I guess they're used to being able to fix most anything," Conrad said with a shrug. "Sorry about him, sir."

Mr. Bowen waved him away and set to pushing his wheelchair into the house. Conrad worried that he'd get stuck at some point, since their home wasn't exactly wheelchair-friendly, but he managed to steer around furniture and even Gandalf's bulk sprawled across the living room floor with relative ease.

"Sorry about him," said Zach. "He's always like that."

"Don't be," Conrad assured him. "You got Howard, right?"

"Right here." He lifted a small pet carrier, where the creature in question was rasping angrily and glaring out the grated door with as much indignation as a duck could muster. "Little bastard almost took a chunk out of my hand when I grabbed him, but hey, if it leaves a scar I can always sue the Autobots."

"Don't sue the Autobots, you loser," Conrad retorted. "They've got enough problems on their plate."

"I know, I was just joking." Zach headed for the living room, setting the pet carrier on an end table. "Oh, and Fielding's on his way with his bishop and brother. Just thought I'd warn you."

"Appreciate it." He made to shut the door, but spotted two more cars and a police cruiser pulling up and left it open. Thankfully it seemed like most of their guests were fairly punctual.

"Hey Fielding," he called out as his fourth co-worker climbed out of the driver's seat of a red Taurus. Dr. Donaldson emerged from the front passenger-side door, while a boy who looked to be around eight or nine hopped out of the back seat.

"Hey 'Rad," Fielding replied, raising one hand in a lazy wave. "Angie told me what's up."

"How's your family taking it?"

"They're all kind of freaking out about it," he admitted. "Especially when she got to the part that this could be fatal. Does Ratchet know how to fix this?"

"I dunno, but we're calling this meeting to try to find some answers. They didn't try to exorcise him, did they?"

"Our church doesn't do exorcisms," Dr. Donaldson replied. "And even if they did, somehow I doubt they'd help in this situation." He nodded at Conrad and raised his hand, as if offering it to shake, but then quickly withdrew it and hurried inside.

_Huh… odd. He seems a little skittish._

' _I'd be skittish too if I had Megatron stuck in my head.'_

_Point, I suppose._

"So everyone here's got giant robots stuck in their head?" asked the boy, grinning excitedly. "Sweet!"

"Not so sweet," Conrad told him. "I know you probably think this is cool, but it's actually pretty dangerous. We gotta get your guy out of your head before he makes you sick."

"Aww," he groaned, pouting. Then he reached up and grabbed Conrad's hand.

 _Ratchet, I presume?_ That voice sounded cool and calm, quite at odds with the enthusiastic boy whose body it currently inhabited.

_Prowl… it's a relief to hear from you again. How are you faring?_

_As well as can be expected._ A hint of irritation colored his voice. _Especially given that I've had the ill luck to end up in the head of an unpredictable, illogical child. I thought Cybertronian sparklings were chaotic enough…_

_I'm sure the boy means well, Prowl. Tanner, come on in, all right? Optimus Prime's inside if you wanted to meet him. Look for someone named Jon._

"Really? All right!" And he let go of Conrad's hand and dashed into the house. "This is so cool!"

' _At least someone's excited about all this.'_

 _Even if his resident spark is less than thrilled with the situation,_ Ratchet replied, snorting in amusement.

A thirty-ish looking man climbed out of the other car, and Conrad realized that this must be the man carrying Kickback – he hadn't met him personally, but Angie had given him a brief description. He smiled and held out his hand as the man headed for the door.

"Hello, sir," he greeted. "Conrad Hawkins. I'm Ratchet's host."

"Nice to meet you," the man replied with a grin. "I'm Mario Castillo, Kickback's host. And let me tell you, this little bugger has been vocal ever since he showed up."

"How so?"

"Well… I guess I can show you." And he reached out to clasp Conrad's hand.

 _MURDERER!_ The voice was a high-pitched shriek, ringing with horror and rage. _Killer! You're responsible for genocide, I'll have you know! If I ever get my body back I swear I'll make you pay for your crimes-_

Conrad hurriedly released his hand. "Whoa! What's his problem?"

"I think he's unimpressed with my line of work," Mario admitted.

"Unimpressed sounds like an understatement. What do you do, wreck cars or something?"

"Not really... I'm an exterminator."

At that, Ratchet cracked up, cackling madly in the back of Conrad's mind.

 _It's not funny!_ Kickback shrilled.

"I'm kinda missing the humor too," Conrad confessed.

_Oh my… oh my Primus… wow… what are the odds…_

"He's an Insecticon," Mario offered.

"Oh… OH! I get it now!" Conrad burst out laughing as well, and even Mario had to chuckle. Kickback, for his part, grumbled and withdrew into a sulk.

"Good luck with him," Conrad told the man, patting his shoulder and waving him into the house. "And hey, Officer."

"Just Jason," the officer replied, tipping his hat. "Jason Lindsenmann, host to Windcharger, though you knew that already."

"Come in and have a seat if you can find one," Conrad told him. "We'll get started as soon as everyone's here. Think we're only missing two now."

"One of them wouldn't happen to be that Madame Sapphique woman, would it?"

"Um… yeah, actually. Why?"

"She's in the back of my cruiser," he replied. "She set up her little shop in the park again and refused to leave when ordered, so I'm supposed to be taking her down to the station for resisting arrest."

"Oh, great," Conrad groaned.

"But they're not expecting her anytime soon, so we should have time for a quick meeting beforehand. Just keep it under wraps, okay?"

"Phew. Got it." At least this guy seemed pretty reasonable for a cop. The ones Conrad had ever run into had been sticklers for the rules, and he was just glad he hadn't had to argue with Jason over this. If Madame Sapphique had to cool her heels in a jail cell for any length of time, that was that much longer their efforts to find out how to remove the sparks were delayed. And at this point, any delay could be disastrous.

Speaking of Sapphique, the fortune teller was drifting past at that moment, close behind Jason. She seemed as dreamy-eyed as ever, and was still wearing her usual shawl, though the head scarf had been replaced with an iridescent violet turban with a huge fake topaz embedded in it. So many bangles hung from her arms that she jingled with every step, and instead of shoes she wore white leather moccasins beaded with silver and turquoise.

"Um…" Really, what else was there to be said?

 _Um…_ Ratchet echoed.

"Oh, do you like it?" she asked, reaching up to adjust the turban. "I just put it together last night. If I'm going to be a carrier for a spirit, then I figured I should do my best to emulate my bodily guest, shouldn't I? And this headpiece is a passable representation of his face, if I do say so myself."

"Um," Conrad repeated. Ratchet just snorted with laughter.

"Oh, silly me, I'm being rude, blocking the doorway." She moved on past, brushing against Conrad on the way in. He caught the briefest burst of disgust and exasperation from Shockwave, and for a moment he felt a little sorry for the mech.

_Don't waste your sympathy, Conrad. Shockwave's a ruthless Decepticon who would sooner dissect you to figure out how best to exterminate your kind than help you._

' _Still, I really doubt he likes being stuck in her body any more than you like being stuck in mine,'_ Conrad countered. _'Especially given that he's stuck with THAT loony.'_

"Hey Conner."

"Hmm?" He turned back around. "Oh, hi Theresa."

His stepmom smiled and opened her arms. Conrad fidgeted awkwardly, not sure what to do next.

 _Hug her back, you idiot,_ Ratchet prompted.

Feeling a little awkward, Conrad obeyed, wrapping his arms around the shorter woman. Theresa squeezed him tightly, then pulled back with a bit of a smile.

"Are you sure your mom's okay with me being here?" she asked.

"I dunno," Conrad confessed. "Part of the reason she was freaking out about cleaning stuff is because she knew you were coming. But she knows this meeting's pretty necessary, so I doubt she's going to complain too much."

Theresa nodded. "I just don't want to cause trouble by being here…"

"You're not."

Conrad turned. "Oh, hey Mom…"

Lindsey nudged Conrad aside to face Theresa. The shorter woman tensed slightly, her smile fading and one hand moving to her abdomen as if she were trying to protect the baby from some unknown threat. For an uncomfortable moment the two women stared at each other, and Conrad wondered if he needed to call for help or separate them before a fight broke out…

Then Lindsey unexpectedly smiled and held out her hand. "Nice to meet you. I'm Lindsey Carson, Conner's mom."

The tension ran out of Theresa all at once, and she smiled and took her hand, shaking it. "Hi… I'm Theresa Hawkins. I guess I'm Conner's stepmom… and host to Wheeljack."

"That's what I hear." She released her hand and nodded inside. "Why don't you come in? I saved the recliner for you, since Conner told me you were pregnant."

"Oh, you didn't have to do that," Theresa insisted. "I'm pregnant, not fragile…"

"Hey, I know what it's like to carry a kid," Lindsey replied. "It's not easy, and you can use all the help you can get. Just pray yours isn't three weeks overdue like mine was…"

"Mom!" Conrad yelped. "Do you have to tell her all the stories?"

"Somebody's got to," Lindsey smirked.

Ratchet burst out laughing. _Wow… they hit it off a lot better than we expected._

' _Yeah… and now I'm starting to think that's a bad thing.'_

_Would you rather they fought and argued the whole time? Its better this way – maybe we'll actually get something constructive accomplished during the meeting._

' _Speaking of the meeting… are you going to tell them all about the little deal with Primus?'_

Ratchet hesitated a moment, and Conrad could feel his apprehension radiating through his mind. _I don't want to… but I'd better. It could explain what happened… and probably provide some vital clues. I just…_

' _Just what?'_

_I just hope it doesn't earn me the hatred of my comrades._

' _Nah, it won't. Sure they might be a little upset about it, but your deal saved their lives. That's got to count for something, right?'_

_I just hope they see it that way._

* * *

_I knew it!_ Huffer shouted, an odd mix of resignation and triumph in his voice. _I knew Primus had it in for me! Why else would I be stuck in a frickin' duck?_

 _You should talk-talk,_ huffed Shrapnel. _I got the hairy one-one._

 _At least you two have the dignity to share personality programming with your host,_ Starscream snapped. _How do you think I feel about this? Primus has a sick sense of humor…_

"Share what?" asked Tanner, screwing up his face in confusion.

 _Gender,_ Wheeljack clarified. _Since we don't reproduce like your kind, gender doesn't determine much more than personality for us. Though we always did wonder about Starscream…_

 _Oh, shut up, Autobot!_ Starscream howled.

 _Everyone shut up!_ Megatron thundered. _Especially you, Starscream! A mech can't hear himself think with all this racket!_

Starscream subsided, but not without a grumble of _Even in death I can't get away from you…_

The spark carriers were crowded into the living room, some in chairs or on the sofa, others on the floor. After some experimentation and a good deal of arguing they finally figured out the best way for everyone to converse – everyone linked hands in a rather jumbled approximation of a circle. In the case of Gandalf and Howard, seeing as neither host had hands, this mostly entailed two people keeping their hands on the animals at all times to keep the circuit complete. Gandalf didn't seem to mind Conrad or Jon's hands on his back, but Howard was making angry little rasps at the contact. Fielding had already been pecked twice, and Conrad suspected that the only reason Zack hadn't gotten the same treatment was because he was the one employee on friendly terms with the duck.

And just because the communication problem had been solved didn't mean everything was going smoothly either. The Cybertronians had spent a good half-hour bickering amongst themselves – the Decepticons wanted two separate councils, one between themselves and one between the Autobots, a proposal that Prime had instantly rejected. Thundercracker and Skywarp constantly trying to cut in to hurl venom at Starscream didn't help either, though privately Conrad couldn't exactly blame them – if he'd been thrown off a space shuttle and left to die, he'd be a little upset too. Starscream wasn't helping his case either, preferring to make snide remarks instead of trying to defend himself or tell his teammates to shut up.

The humans weren't exactly helping matters either. Chandra was so busy making goo-goo eyes at a mostly oblivious Fielding that she was neglecting her translating duties, and as a consequence Roderiga ended up missing half of what everyone was saying. Tanner kept interrupting to ask the Autobots enthusiastic but rather inane questions ("Which one of you turns into a T-Rex? How do you see in car mode? Where does your trailer go when you transform, Prime?"), and no amount of shushing could get him to stop. Stanley and Brawn couldn't seem to stop bickering between themselves, and every time Huffer voiced a complaint Stanley felt obligated to tell him off.

Tensions had been so high that Ratchet almost hadn't wanted to make his confession – if things were this close to spinning out of control already, what would the revelation that he was responsible for their current situation do? In the end, though, he had explained his hasty deal with Primus… and was already starting to regret it.

 _This bickering is pointless,_ Shockwave said at last. _What has been done has been done. Primus has chosen to act on Ratchet's request, and no complaint will reverse it. We can only look for a way to rectify it ourselves._

 _How come Primus listens to the fraggin' medic and not me?_ Huffer whined. _What makes him so special? Even our own creator ignores me…_

"Oh, shut up, at least your deity gives a damn and DOES something every once in awhile," Stanley snapped. "Ours mostly just sits there and laughs at us."

"I beg to differ…" began Dr. Donaldson, sounding just a bit miffed.

 _A'right, that's enough!_ Ironhide barked. _For once I agree with Shocky. Let's find a way to fix this 'fore it kills someone!_

"Are you sure this has never happened before?" Sharon asked. "Surely if it's happened now, it's happened before, right?"

 _There's nothing in our recorded history that even hints that something like this has occurred in the past,_ Prowl replied.

 _It coulda happened at one point,_ Wheeljack added. _But either it never got written down or the record was lost. Either's possible – there's some pretty sizable chunks of our history that have been erased from the archives for one reason or another._

"That's real comforting," Heather muttered.

"Well, your scientists must know something," Conrad pointed out. "I mean, surely someone's experimented with removing sparks from a body in the past, right? Even if it was as some kind of weapon…"

 _Such a weapon would be completely unethical,_ Prowl cut in. _The rules of engagement specifically forbid any weapon that tampers with a spark._

 _Because we all know the Decepticons would NEVER do anything unethical or break the rules of engagement,_ Windcharger snarked.

 _What about whatever-it-is you medics use to transfer sparks during an upgrade?_ demanded Kickback. _Isn't that some kind of spark extractor?_

 _That involves directly connecting the old chassis' spark chamber to the new via cables,_ Ratchet replied. _Wiring an organic to a spark chamber would not only kill them, but I highly doubt it would work either._

"So we're stuck like this?" Chandra cried. "With ghosts in our heads for the rest of our lives?"

"However long our lives might be," Dr. Donaldson added balefully.

 _We can't just give up hope,_ Thundercracker protested. _We may not have a lot of time, but we still have SOME time. Primus wouldn't stick us in this situation if there wasn't some way out of it, right?_

 _I dunno, TC,_ Skywarp admitted. _Sometimes I think Primus is kinda a jerk. Wouldn't be beneath him to pull a stunt like this just for laughs._

 _When did you become Dead End, Warp?_ Thundercracker grumbled.

Before Skywarp could come up with a retort, Prime spoke up – the first time he had spoken since Ratchet had mentioned his deal. _I… I may know of something that can help._

 _Now you choose to divulge it,_ Megatron growled. _Were you hoping to play stupid and keep the Decepticons from finding out about it?_

 _I have no desire to see any Cybertronians – or their host humans – come to harm,_ Prime replied calmly. _I was giving the matter thought is all._

"What do you mean?" asked Angie. "If it could help us…"

_It could help… but it could also unleash something devastating. I had to weigh the risks, and decide if saving us all was worth the risk. Given the fact that our spark energies are toxic to your kind, and that so many human and Cybertronian lives are on the line, it seems like we have no choice but to take that risk._

_If you're talking about Project Repository, Prime, then we discontinued that for a reason,_ Prowl said firmly. _Pursuing this could kill us all._

 _But not pursuing this WILL kill us all,_ Prime retorted. _I've made my decision, Prowl, and you'd do well to abide by it._

"Project Repository?" Jon repeated. "What's that? Sounds kinda familiar…"

 _It shouldn't,_ Prowl replied testily. _We've never shared it with the human media, or with any other source. It's not even supposed to leave the Autobot officers. The fact that we're sharing it with humans AND Decepticons now-_

 _Enough, Prowl,_ Prime cut in. _Our survival trumps secrecy for the time being._

Ratchet frowned inwardly. He had never heard of a Project Repository before, and given that Prime had always counted him among his trusted officers, that was saying something. And the way Prime referred to said project in tones of dread, referring to possible risks and dangers, chilled his spark. What was their leader hiding from them?

"What's Project Repository?" asked Tanner, the edge of enthusiasm leaving his voice. Even he was catching on that something serious was going on.

 _A mission to find valuable Cybertronian artifacts on your world,_ Prime explained. _For reasons unknown to us, your world seems to be a ready source for artifacts and vehicles from our world – the Heart of Cybertron, the Pearl of Bahoudin, crashed exploration craft and escape pods, and the like. We're unsure why there's such a concentration of Cybertronian objects on Earth, but that's a puzzle to sort out at another time._

_Shortly before the Autobots' final evacuation of Cybertron, we discovered evidence that other, more powerful artifacts existed on your world. Not simply shipwrecks or discarded weather satellites, but something stronger… artifacts of the Thirteen Firstforged._

"Thirteen Firstforged?" repeated Zack. "Sounds like something from a cheesy fantasy novel – ow!" He yelped and glared at Stanley, who looked completely unapologetic for having rammed an elbow into his son's side.

 _The Firstforged are, as the name states, the first Cybertronians to have been created by Primus,_ Prime went on. _They served our homeworld and our people in whatever capacity needed – as prophets, paladins, guardians, teachers, leaders, and more. As the eons have passed the Thirteen have gone their separate ways, some going into hiding and others passing out of this universe entirely… but their legacy lives on. And many of them left powerful artifacts behind – weapons, strange devices, talismans bearing unusual powers. Sadly, almost all of these artifacts have been destroyed, lost, or forgotten over time. The only one we still have in our possession is the Matrix of Leadership, repository of all Cybertronian wisdom._

Ratchet felt Conrad nod in response, and had to chuckle softly in amusement at his host's intense interest in the sudden history lesson. Did humans not have these sorts of stories in their histories? He knew something of their legends and mythologies, but fiction was hardly the same as heritage…

 _But you believe some of these artifacts are on Earth,_ Shockwave concluded. _And that there is one that can help us._

Prime gave off a feeling that felt like a suspicious frown, but he continued. _A mission was to be organized to seek out a hidden cache of these artifacts – a vault that was hidden on your world to safeguard them until the time was right. We don't know who was responsible for creating and filling the vault – an Autobot trying to protect the artifacts from being exploited or destroyed, a Decepticon securing said artifacts for later use, or even one of the Thirteen themselves. And most importantly, we don't know what sorts of traps or security systems have been set in place to protect the vault._

 _If there's something in the vault that can help us, though, we have to chance it,_ Wheeljack replied. _And wasn't one of the lost artifacts a spark extractor?_

 _The Scourge of Maximo,_ Prime replied. _A device built specifically for drawing the life energy from a Cybertronian body, and holding it for future use. Liege Maximo was rumored to keep a stable of sparkeaters as pets, and designed the device specifically to keep them fed and content._

Ratchet shuddered in revulsion. Liege Maximo was one of the most ruthless and sadistic mechs among the legendary Thirteen, second only to the Fallen himself. The thought of using his own device to save their lives was sickening… but it was starting to sound like they would have little choice.

"Do we even have time to find this… vault?" asked Dr. Donaldson. "It could be anywhere."

 _We have a location,_ Prowl said simply.

"You do?" Jon demanded. "Why didn't you say nothin'? Where is it?"

Prowl hesitated. _I dislike giving information to the enemy…_

 _We're stuck in squishy bodies, I highly doubt we'll be doing much with this info,_ Skywarp pointed out.

 _If our information is correct,_ Prime cut in, _then the vault is located here in Utah, in a place known as Zion National Park._

Conrad sucked in his breath. "That's not far from here."

"Not far from here?" repeated Fielding incredulously. "It's like a four-hour drive!"

"Better than it being on the other side of the world," Angie pointed out, a look of joy and relief on her face. "And you're sure the Scourge of Maximo is there?"

 _Not positive,_ Prime confessed, _but then, there's no way of knowing precisely what's in the vault without opening it._

 _It's still our best lead,_ Ratchet admitted. _And I feel a lot better knowing we have some plan of action now, I must admit. Now that we know a solution exists, our next step is to contact Autobot City and kick Project Repository back into gear._

 _Who made you the boss-boss?_ Shrapnel griped.

 _He's right, though,_ Prime noted. _Autobot City needs to know about this. Lindsey, do we have permission to use your phone? The Autobots will cover any fees._

"Of course," she replied. "Like I'd say no."

_Good. Jon and I will make the call. Everyone else… be ready to move out as soon as possible. The Autobots may wish to take the humans to Autobot City once the vault has been opened, or they may even request our presence at the vault itself. The hard part has only just begun._


	13. Chapter 13

Conrad couldn't help but flinch a bit as Jon slammed the phone down. He hadn't even had a chance to say a word! Had whoever was on the other end blown him off or something? Or had he reached a recording and not wanted to bother with that computerized mess?

"Jon, what…" he began.

"There's a lizard at the other end!"

In the back of his mind Conrad could feel Ratchet give out a burst of emotion that felt remarkably like a facepalm.

"Oh Christ, not the lizard crap again," Zach muttered. "Dude, Cybertronians can't be lizards!"

"Was a human who picked up the phone!" Jon insisted, eyes wide and wild. "A woman! An' she was a lizard! Honest! I heard it in her voice!"

"How can you tell someone's a lizard just by their voice?" asked Conrad.

"I just know, okay?"

Rodriga frowned. " _¿Lagarto?"_

"I don't get it either," Chandra grumbled. "What's he rambling about anyhow?"

"Jon thinks lizard people are taking over our planet," Fielding explained. "It's a common conspiracy theory, but he takes it to ridiculous levels."

"It's the truth!" Jon barked, waving a finger in Fielding's face. "Just you wait, one of these days those blasted lizards are gonna be runnin' the whole world, if they aren't already! You won't be accusing me of cryin' wolf when the lizards start roundin' up your family like cows and herdin' 'em up to be dinner somewhere… and don't YOU start up on me either!"

Heather, who had been reaching for the phone, raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I was just going to grab the phone and call them myself, not say anything!"

"Not you," Jon told her. "Prime's getting' in on this too. Now listen, you, just because YOU haven't come across any homicidal lizard people in your travels don't mean they don't exist! If giant robots from another planet can live in disguise on this planet, who's to say… hey, shut up! I'm not making things up, I'm just more observant than the normal person! Oh, don't start that again…"

Angie watched Jon wander off to another room, still arguing aloud with his Cybertronian tagalong. "You know, if I'd seen him go off like this a couple weeks ago, I probably would have thought he'd slipped completely off the deep end. Now it's just normal. Is that scary or what?"

Conrad laughed a little. "Here, I'll call Autobot City. I guess we should have known having Jon make the call wasn't the best of ideas."

"Well, he has their leader in his head, that was supposed to be an advantage on our part." She shrugged. "Wasn't expecting the lizard bit to kick in on us."

 _We can discuss the whole Jon-and-the-lizards ordeal once we've informed Autobot City of what's going on,_ Ratchet said testily. _It's the lesser of two evils at the moment._

"Right." Conrad turned and picked up the phone. "Got a number?"

Ratchet listed off a rather lengthy string of numbers. _That should get you directly to whoever's manning the main terminal, instead of having to go through a bunch of automated systems and receptionists. Those are meant mainly to handle visitor's questions and schedule tours and such, but I doubt they'd take our situation very seriously._

' _So what do I do once someone answers?'_

_Introduce yourself, then inform them that Ratchet wants to speak to them._

' _But don't they think you're dead?'_

_I'd be rather worried if they didn't think I was dead, seeing as they presumably have a body. But I'll prompt you on what to say next._

Conrad wanted to ask what to do if they promptly hung up on him for being a prank caller, but before he could ask that a woman's voice came on the line.

"Autobot City main terminal. This is Carly Witwicky speaking. How may I help you?"

"Um… hi," Conrad began. "I'm Conrad Hawkins." His mind went blank after that. How was he supposed to explain to this Witwicky gal that he had an Autobot ghost stuck in his head?

"Hello, Mr. Hawkins," she replied pleasantly. "Is there something I can do to help you? That name doesn't sound familiar, so I'm going to guess you just arrived at Autobot City. Do you need to be scheduled for an introductory tour?"

"Actually, I'm not in Autobot City… I'm in Provo. Utah. But I need to talk to someone in charge."

"Okay… could I ask how you got this number? It's not one we make available to the public." Quietly he heard her mutter "Gotta get Blaster to change the number _again…_ damn 4chan, how do they keep getting this info…"

"I got it from Ratchet. Um, just now, not like, in the past… uh, he's right here, he needs to talk to someone…"

Silence. Then her voice returned, colder and a little hurt. "Is this some kind of sick joke? It's not funny…"

"I'm telling the truth, ma'am! Ratchet's alive! He's right here!"

"That's impossible. I watched them entomb his body. And if you think you can get away with disrespecting the dead like this, I just want you to know that we're tracing this call…"

' _Ratchet, a little help here?'_

 _Poor Carly,_ Ratchet said quietly. _Of course this would be hard on her…_ He caught himself, and spoke again with a little more confidence in his voice. _There's a specific incident that we both agreed to use as a code just in case someone tried to impersonate one of us. Relate this to her…_

Conrad listened carefully, then nodded once Ratchet had finished and spoke up again. "Ma'am… he says to tell you that at the battle at the Lucky Peak Dam, you broke your leg in three places and he transported you to a hospital in Boise. He played Sheryl Crow songs on his radio to calm you down. You both sang along to the lyrics of 'Every Day is a Winding Road.' And you made fun of his voice a little, though he's not upset about it, he admits he hasn't got a great singing voice."

Silence. When Carly spoke up again, she sounded on the verge of tears. "R-Ratchet? Oh my god… put him on the phone, please…"

"I can't, ma'am. He's… kinda stuck in my head right now. His spark somehow survived, but it's in my body."

"Can he hear me right now?"

"Yeah, but he can't speak to anyone else unless I'm in physical contact with them. I'll pass on what he says as best I can though, if you want."

"Ratchet…" Her voice trailed off, then a rather disgusting snort sounded through the phone line as she loudly blew her nose. "Sorry. I'm getting a little choked up here… Ratchet and I were friends. When I heard he'd been killed… we all took it hard, but…"

 _I know, Carly, I know,_ Ratchet said softly. _But I'm here now._

"He says he's here now," Conrad relayed.

"How did he end up in you, though? I mean… this shouldn't be happening, should it?"

"We're not sure," Conrad replied. "But get this – he's not the only one."

She gasped. "The others? Prowl, Ironhide, Wheeljack… Prime?"

"All of those guys and more. Unfortunately that includes Decepticons too, but guess we can't get everything we want, huh?"

She gave an ecstatic little laugh. "Wait until I tell everyone else about this! Spike's going to be thrilled! And Grimlock, oh geez, he's really missed you and Wheeljack, Ratchet… and Elita and Chromia, they'll be so happy to hear Prime and Ironhide are all right…"

_I'm not sure I'd use the term "all right." Tell her the full story, Conrad._

Conrad took a deep breath and launched into the standard explanation that he'd repeated so many times over the past week. Carly listened attentively, and to her credit she didn't panic at the news. Now that the shock of learning her deceased friends were still alive had worn off, she seemed all business now.

"Any idea how to fix this, Ratchet?" she asked.

 _Prime has some idea,_ Ratchet replied by way of Conrad. _But his attempt to contact you was less than successful. He has a theory, but it's probably best given only to Ultra Magnus at this time, and on a more secure channel than this._

"Is that who the hangup call earlier was? But copy that, Ratchet. I'll have Blaster patch you over to Rodimus Prime on Cybertron. He can scramble the signal, too, just in case we've got Decepticons trying to listen in on this."

A burst of confusion from Ratchet. _Who?_

"Who's Rodimus Prime?" asked Conrad.

"Oh, hasn't it hit the newspapers yet? There's a new Prime! Hot Rod took up the Matrix during the battle against Unicron and Galvatron, and he was made the next Prime. Kind of took us all by surprise…"

 _Slow down, slow down!_ Ratchet protested. _Since when did we fight a unicorn or someone named Galvanize or whatever the frag his name is? And what in the name of the Firstforged was Hot Rod doing with the Matrix in the first place?_

"Ratchet's demanding an explanation," Conrad supplied. "I'm guessing the unicorn bit threw him."

"UniCRON," Carly corrected. "A planet-sized Transformer who eats other planets. And yes, it's as terrifying as it sounds." She sighed. "The Cliffnotes version is that after Prime 'died,' someone named Galvatron took over the Decepticons and stole the Matrix from Ultra Magnus. Then Unicron attacked Cybertron, the Autobots tried to stop him, and sometime during the battle Hot Rod and Galvatron scuffled and Hot Rod got his hands on the Matrix… and it chose him as the next Prime. The Matrix went on to destroy Unicron and throw Galvatron into deep space, and the Decepticons were shaken enough by losing both their leader and a huge chunk of their forces that they fled the planet."

Conrad needed a moment to process that. "Wow."

 _I have a few choicer words to describe this besides 'wow,'_ Ratchet replied. _This must be what Shockwave was talking about when he said Cybertron had fallen under attack. Thank Primus it's gone, though…_

' _Who's Hot Rod?'_

_Some young punk who thinks he's such a hotshot and regularly tears up the roads around the Ark and Autobot City. And believe me, there's not a lick of leadership material in him. He's an irresponsible and impulsive little glitch who needs a swift kick in the aft more than he needs the Matrix in his paws._

' _So basically him becoming Prime is like Miley Cyrus being elected President.'_

_Who's Miley Cyrus?_

' _You don't want to know.'_ Aloud he said "How's the new Prime gonna take this?"

"He'll probably love it," Carly noted with a bit of a smirk in her voice. "He's made it abundantly clear that he doesn't want to be leader or any sort of Chosen One, but he's at least doing his best at it. Even if Optimus left some big footsteps to fill."

"Chosen One?"

"Before Prime… left his body, he said something eerie," Carly explained. "Almost like he was making a prophecy. He said something about an Autobot rising out of our ranks and using the Matrix to light our darkest hour. People are taking that to mean Hot Rod is some kind of Chosen One."

Ratchet snorted. _Well, at least he hasn't let being the 'Chosen One' go to his head, I suppose. How long before we can talk to him?_

"How long until we can talk to the Prime?" asked Conrad.

"It might be a few minutes… oh wait. Blaster says he's available right now. He's going to patch you through. There might be some distortion for a few minutes while he codes the signal."

Conrad flinched and held the receiver at arm's length as a horrible screeching noise assaulted his ear. "Ow! She wasn't kidding!"

"Is someone trying to kill a cat on the other line?" asked Angie.

"No, someone's just scrambling the signal," Conrad replied. "You'd think alien robots with advanced technology could at least find a way to do it quietly…"

_Says the race who has trouble reaching its own moon without help._

' _Hey, shut up, I think our tech's doing well for only a few thousand years' development.'_

The screeching cut out, and Conrad put the phone back to his ear in time to catch a new voice:

"-dimus Prime speaking. Who is this?"

Conrad frowned. Ratchet was right – this guy sounded awfully young. More like that rebel character from _The Breakfast Club_ than any sort of planetary leader.

"Hello?" the voice repeated. "Anyone there? Blaster said this was important."

"Uh, right. This is Conrad Hawkins… and I need to talk to you about something. Did Carly give you the rundown on what was happening?"

"What rundown… oh, is that what this memo is in my inbox?" Vague muttering as Rodimus tapped at a keyboard in the background. "Give me a moment, got stuff piled up in here that'll take me orns to sort through…"

 _Primus, I sure hope Ultra Magnus is doing what he can to help this kid,_ Ratchet grumbled. _He's got absolutely no idea what he's doing._

' _Hey, even Optimus Prime had to start somewhere,'_ Conrad pointed out. _'Maybe once he finds his footing, he'll do a great job. Unless Optimus gets his body back, of course…'_

"Ah, here it is." Silence, presumably as Rodimus read the memo. "…huh. Well, that's bizarre. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was Springer trying to pull a fast one on me."

"It's real, sir," Conrad assured him. "Wish I had some way to prove it to you."

"If Carly's reporting it as truth, I'm inclined to believe her," Rodimus replied. "So… Ratchet's in there with you? How's the ol' Doc Bot doing anyhow? Aside from the whole sharing-mind-space-with-a-meatbag thing?"

"Hey!"

 _Have a little respect for the human, Hot Rod,_ Ratchet snapped. _Didn't the Matrix teach you anything resembling manners?_

Conrad happily relayed Ratchet's statement, but that only made Rodimus crack up laughing. "Hey, the Matrix chose me out of duress in the heat of the moment. I'm pretty sure it didn't have time to program manners into my CPU. And if it did it could have programmed a _Leading the Autobots and Using the Matrix for Dummies_ manual in here while it was at it…"

 _This isn't a time to get flip with me, Rodimus Prime,_ Ratchet snapped. _I need to talk to you about Project Repository._

That got his attention. "Keep talking."

Conrad explained what Prime had told him as best he could, with a little coaching from Ratchet. Rodimus at least seemed to have a better understanding of the Firstforged and the relics of the Primes than he did, for which Conrad was grateful. Maybe he DID need to enroll in a Cybertronian History class when this was all over. If nothing else, it'd be interesting… and might come in handy if he and Ratchet kept in contact after this whole mess was resolved.

"Perceptor and Skids'll be happy to hear the Repository's been found," Rodimus noted. "Still, isn't it dangerous? We have no idea what kinds of forces are guarding it."

_I know… but our best hope for getting out of these flesh bodies before our spark energies kill our hosts is to find the vault and hope to Primus the Scourge of Maximo's inside. We're going to need a team of Autobots to meet us there and help us open the vault… and then we'll need to get everyone to Autobot City so the medics can set all this right._

"You've got everything all planned out, it sounds like."

_I've had time to settle on a plan of action. Are you going to help us?_

"What kind of a leader do you think I am?" Rodimus demanded, sounding a bit offended. "I know, I had a reputation for being irresponsible, but like I'm going to leave my comrades high and dry like this. Get all the humans together and sit tight. We'll have a convoy there by tomorrow, and then we'll make the trip to the Repository."

"Thanks, sir," Conrad chimed in. "And not that having Ratchet around hasn't been interesting, but I'm going to be really glad when he gets his body back."

"I think we all are, kid," Rodimus replied. "And I'd be lying if I didn't say I'll be glad when Optimus comes back to take up the Matrix again."

 _Can't handle a little responsibility?_ Ratchet asked dryly. Conrad decided not to repeat that statement for Rodimus' benefit.

"I'll send Skyfire to find the tombship and retrieve your bodies," Rodimus continued. "We'll have them fully repaired and ready by the time you get back to Autobot City. And Conrad… you and your human friends be careful. You've got some of our greatest leaders and warriors inside you, and we don't want to see them come to harm."

"Yes, sir," Conrad replied. "What about the Decepticons?"

"We'll probably keep their sparks in containment chambers until they can stand trial. Primus knows the Autobots want to see them brought to justice for their war crimes. Hope they haven't been giving you too much grief."

"To be honest, some people have actually been enjoying this whole thing. But yeah… we'll be glad when this is all over with. See you tomorrow, sir?"

"Naturally. Like I'd miss this for the universe." He laughed. "Until all are one, 'Rad."

"Goodbye, sir." He hung up.

"Well?" asked Mario, raising an eyebrow.

"The Autobots are gonna show up tomorrow," Conrad explained. "We're taking a road trip to Zion National Park to find us a vault. Then from there they want us to go to Autobot City so their medics can get these sparks out of us."

The living room erupted into cheers. Chandra blurted a hurried translation out to Rodriga, and the young woman teared up and flung her arms around her interpreter. Even Mr. Bowen and Gandalf seemed happy – the former actually smiled, while the latter set up an enthusiastic howl, though he probably didn't understand quite what was going on and was just reacting to everyone else's joy.

Someone grabbed Conrad from behind and spun him around, and before he could react Angie had pulled him close and planted a celebratory kiss smack on his lips.

 _What in the…_ Starscream blurted. _Oh Primus, disgusting!_

Angie pulled back with a little laugh. "What's the matter, Screamer, can't handle a little kiss? Or do Cybertronians not kiss each other?"

 _From time to time,_ Ratchet replied, though he sounded just as put off by the sudden kiss as Starscream at the moment. _But you two realize we can feel what you're feeling at the moment. And the fact that your girlfriend is hosting Starscream in her body just compounds this…_

"Oh, suck it up, Ratchet," Conrad laughed, and he pulled Angie in for another kiss. Ratchet groaned in disgust, and Starscream actually started making retching sounds, but Conrad and Angie ignored them. They'd put up with their share of discomfort at the hands of their Cybertronian "guests," so what was a little payback anyhow?

"All right, calm down everyone," Theresa said at last. "We're not out of the woods yet."

"This is still a huge step," Heather pointed out. "I know for one that I feel a LOT better about all this than before we came here."

"And we get to see Autobots up close!" Tanner exclaimed. "This is gonna be so cool!"

"Chill you shorts, Tanner," Fielding advised. "Should we meet back here tomorrow, then? That'll give us time to go home and prepare things. I'm sure people will need to arrange for time off work and such."

"I have NO idea how I'm going to explain to my boss that I need sick leave so I can have a Decepticon surgically removed from my head," Sharon noted, though she sounded more amused than annoyed.

"Yeah, let's do that," Conrad replied. "Zach, can you keep Howard overnight? I'd rather not let him go and then not be able to catch him again tomorrow."

"No prob," Zach replied. "He can stay in my bathroom."

"He craps on the carpet, you're the one cleaning it up," Mr. Bowen grumped.

"Sir, yes sir," Zach retorted, reaching over to grab the pet carrier. "See you tomorrow, 'Rad?"

Conrad nodded. "Fielding, think you and your family can come back tomorrow? And is your mom going to be okay with this?"

"She's gonna have to be," Fielding pointed out. "She might insist on coming with Tanner, though. You know how moms are." He looked around, frowning a bit. "Um… where's the bishop?"

"Bishop?" repeated Conrad. "Oh, you mean Dr. Donaldson? Um… dunno."

"Maybe he took off early," Zach replied.

"Nah, he came here with us," Fielding protested. "I thought we were going to leave together."

"Maybe he's walking home?" Angela suggested.

"It's like forty blocks to his house," said Tanner. "Why would he walk?"

"Have YOU seen him anywhere, Tanner?" asked Angie.

Tanner shrugged. "Last I saw he was in the corner talking to that weird lady with the genie hat."

"Tanner, you don't call people weird," Fielding scolded.

"But she is!"

_Oh, slagging son of a glitch!_

Conrad frowned. ' _Ratchet?'_

 _We were complete idiots!_ Ratchet sounded horrified at the moment, though Conrad couldn't fathom why. _Why didn't we think to keep those two separated? Or to keep a closer optic on the Decepticons in our group? Of COURSE they would be taking advantage of all this!_

' _What are you talking about?'_

_Think, Conrad! Use your brain! Madame Sapphique has Megatron's most loyal lieutenant in her head! Of course Megatron would seek her out and want to converse with her! Those two must have figured out how to control their hosts and are using Madame Sapphique and Dr. Donaldson to further their own ends!_

Conrad felt as if the bottom had dropped out of his stomach. ' _You think they're planning on double-crossing us?'_

_I KNOW they're planning on it! No doubt Megatron and Shockwave decided to make a break for it and find the vault themselves the moment they learned about it._

Conrad made a quick scan of the living room. ' _Madame Sapphique's still here, though.'_

_Probably so Megatron can have a set of eyes here, making sure we don't go chasing after him or something. Shockwave might be under orders to contact him if we decide to pursue him. And I'll bet that either Shockwave managed to force his complete control over her body, or she's still in control but just a willing accomplice._

' _Or she just handed control over to him. She thinks he's some sort of mystical otherworldly being, so she might not think twice about letting him possess her.'_

_Exactly._

' _So what the hell do we do about this? The Autobots won't even be here until tomorrow!'_

_The only option we have is to leave right now, without the Autobots. We have to beat Megatron to the Repository. It's the only chance we have._

' _That's crazy! We don't even know how to get there! Or how to unlock it! Or get past whatever guard dog is there to protect it!'_

_We have to try! Or else Megatron gets away with the Scourge and whatever else is in that vault, and we're left to die!_

Given those facts, Conrad couldn't exactly argue. _'I'll go look up directions and see if anyone here's up for a road trip. Let's just hope we can beat a deranged warlord there.'_

_May Primus be with us… all our lives depend on this._

* * *

The human put up an admirable fight, Megatron grudgingly acknowledged. He hadn't expected the man to resist his efforts to take control of his body, or to nearly succeed at winning control back. The Decepticon commander could respect such survival instinct and mental fortitude, even in an organic pest. And he could almost forgive the man for his attempts at foiling his plans.

Almost.

 _You're making this far more difficult than it needs to be,_ Megatron snarled at the man, struggling to divide his concentration between walking and clamping down on the man's consciousness in their shared mind.

' _Let me go!'_ the man shouted. ' _Please! I haven't done anything to you!'_

 _Your kind has resisted my efforts to take your planet. That's enough cause for me._ He spotted his host's house just ahead and headed for it, noting that most of the lights were already out for the night. _Consider this an honor – your contribution to our cause will help us retake Cybertron and restore it to its former glory._

' _I'm not going to play traitor to my kind by helping you!'_

_You haven't a choice in this matter, wretched creature. Now stay put. This will go much more painlessly for both of us if you simply let it happen._

He kept walking even as the man continued to rail and shout, a smug smile on his host's lips. Foolish Autobots. Did they really expect him to play along with their little scheme? To simply sit back and behave himself while they went about the business of trying to contact Autobot City and get their old bodies back? Not a chance. Not when their plan would have the Decepticon sparks either snuffed or stowed away in some prison bunker for the rest of their lives, and give the blasted Autobots free reign over Cybertron.

And not when the Repository lay free for the taking on this world, containing artifacts with unimaginable power. Artifacts that could win this war for the Decepticons once and for all.

Megatron flinched as the human tried to wrench control back again, and he paused to grapple mentally with his host before continuing. Blast it, the man was stubborn. What was it going to take to get him to cooperate?

A voice addressed him the moment he opened the door to the house: "Welcome home, honey. How'd the meeting go?"

The human's lips curled in a faint smile. Of course… the perfect solution.

' _No… you wouldn't dare…'_

 _I would dare,_ Megatron sneered. _I could step forward and crush your mate's throat before she even had a chance to scream. I could go into your spawn's rooms and snuff their lives, one by one, as they sleep. And the best part is that their last thoughts, their last memories, will be that their deaths are coming at the hands of their own mate, their own father… at your hands._

He could feel the human shudder in the back of their shared mind, terror pulsing in waves through the organic brain. Megatron waited, silent, for the man's reaction, though he had a good idea already what his response would be.

"Honey?" The woman was carrying a basket of clothes, but she set it down and hurried over to his side. "Are you all right? Is something wrong?"

He could sense that his host wanted desperately to answer, and he braced himself, ready to act should the man do anything stupid. But the human's presence receded to the back of his mind, quiet for now. He would cooperate for the moment. Good.

"Everything is fine," he replied, taking care to enunciate clearly. "It has simply been a long day."

The woman relaxed slightly, and she leaned forward to brush her lips against his cheek. "You have me worried, sweetie. Especially with this whole spark business. How long before they can get it out of you?"

"Soon," he replied. "I have to leave tonight. They want my presence at… a clinic." That was the word for a human repair bay, right? "To begin the procedure."

"When do you need to be there?"

"As soon as possible. I must leave tonight."

"So soon?" She sighed. "They don't give you much warning… but maybe Autobots don't understand that we have jobs and such to worry about. I'll go call my mom and see if she can watch the kids-"

"No!" He scowled at how quickly the word had burst from his mouth, and amended his answer. "No. They want me there alone."

She frowned. "I don't like that. What if something goes wrong?"

"Everything will go perfectly," he assured her. "You have no need to worry."

"I still don't like it, but I guess they're not going to give us a lot of choice, are they?" She hugged him, and Megatron had to resist the urge to squirm out of her grip in disgust. "I love you, honey. Drive safe, all right? And call me as soon as they're done."

The human tensed in the corner of his mind – doubtless he didn't like Megatron touching his mate any more than Megatron liked the woman's arms around him. He increased his hold on the man's presence, a reminder that he was still in a position to inflict damage should he try anything foolish.

"Going to say goodbye to the kids before you leave?"

"No… let them sleep." No sense wasting more time than he already had.

"Be careful, honey."

He made his way to the bedroom, grimacing at human inefficiency the whole way. Had he been in his Cybertronian body, departure would merely have been a matter of transforming or activating his antigravs and being on his way. But humans didn't have that luxury, and he would need a vehicle to get to where he was going. And for that he would need keys, and the human's license to operate the thing – not that he cared whether his host got in trouble for breaking a law, but the last thing he needed was for an officer to intercept them and delay them further. He briefly considered taking the man's cell phone as well, mostly for its ability to access a map to their destination, but in the end he opted to leave it behind. Too easy to trace.

Finally he was in the vehicle, and after some fumbling with the car's controls he was on his way. Fraggit, why did the man opt for a manual transmission of all things? Humans insisted on making everything far more complicated than it needed to be…

_Megatron._

That wasn't his host. _Soundwave, state your location._

_Bicentennial Park. Approximately 4.5 kilometers from your location. Shockwave's host: present._

_Excellent… I shall meet you there. There have been interesting developments, and we not only have a means to free ourselves from these miserable flesh bodies, we have the location of something that could help us crush the Autobots once and for all… the Repository._

Soundwave didn't respond for a moment. _Repository: mythical. No evidence of vault's existence._

_Not so mythical after all. It exists. And Optimus Prime was fool enough to give us its location. If we're to beat the Autobots there, though, we must hurry._


	14. Chapter 14

"So this is like our band's first road trip, right?" asked Zach, grinning from ear to ear as hurried out to his truck. "Sweet! We can pretend we're on tour, except we're only touring one city and we don't have our instruments."

"Can't you be serious about this for once?" demanded Fielding. "Lives are at stake here!"

"Excuse me for trying to lighten things up," Zach grumbled.

Conrad hadn't been overly surprised when, upon announcing their predicament and requesting volunteers for the drive to Zion, his co-workers had all volunteered immediately. They were hardly the only ones, of course – Chandra, Sharon, Mario, Rodriga, and even Theresa and Tanner had offered to accompany them. He'd had to talk the last two out of their decision, though – this whole adventure was bound to be dangerous enough without also putting a child and a pregnant woman in harm's way.

In the end, he'd opted for his co-workers and bandmates to accompany him. He trusted them, and even more importantly, they needed at least one driver that wasn't carrying a spark just in case his and Angela's conditions deteriorated along the way. The last thing they needed was for someone to black out at the wheel and kill them all in a fiery crash.

There had been one other volunteer, and with some misgivings he'd accepted said volunteer. As Ratchet had helpfully pointed out, said volunteer would be a valuable asset along the way given which spark he was carrying. He just hoped this wouldn't cause further problems.

Angela hurried out of the house. "Madam Sapphique's gone. She must have snuck out the back door."

 _Damn it,_ Ratchet hissed. _Shockwave's going to rendezvous with his boss. Why did he have to get a complete idiot for a host?_

' _She's not an idiot, she's just so sure he's something benevolent that she won't let anyone tell her otherwise,'_ Conrad retorted. Then he grimaced. Why was he defending the kook?

"Tell some of the others to search for her," he said aloud. "Maybe they can stop her before she meets up with Megatron. We have to get going NOW, though. Can Fielding drive your car?"

Angela nodded and tossed her keys over. "Your mom's not too happy about this."

"I know… but we've gotta do this. If Megatron gets to the vault first, we're all screwed."

"Let's put a move on!" Crazy Jon shouted from the passenger seat of Angela's car. "We're burnin' daylight!"

"It's night, ya loon!" Zach shot back, grabbing his phone and a six-pack of soda from his truck before hurrying to the car.

"Then we're burnin' moonlight, let's go!" Jon retorted. His usual affable, slightly dazed manner was gone – he sounded more like a drill sergeant or Mr. Jakobson right now.

The four of them piled into the vehicle, Fielding taking the wheel while Conrad, Angela, and Zack crowded into the back seat. Fielding started up the engine and pulled out of the driveway while the others shifted around, trying to fasten seatbelts and figure out how much wiggle room they were going to have. This was going to be a long drive.

"Does Prime know for sure where we're going?" asked Angela. "Zion's a big park, and we're not going to have time to tromp all over it looking for the vault."

"He doesn't," Jon replied. "The search got as far as narrowin' the location down to the park before it was called off. The Autobots figured there were more important things to worry 'bout, I guess, what with a war on."

"Great," Zach noted. "Just peachy. How are we supposed to find a Cybertronian treasure chest in the middle of over a hundred thousand acres of land?"

 _Now's not the time to go Dead End on us, Zach,_ Ratchet informed him.

"Who's Dead End and what's he got to do with this conversation?" asked Zach. Being squashed between Conrad and Angela meant the poor guy would be subjected to whatever Ratchet and Starscream had to say, whether he liked it or not.

 _Never mind that,_ Ratchet snapped. _Let's focus on beating Megatron to the park first. I'm sure there'll be SOME sign of the Repository when we get there._

"Maybe we should have called the Autobots back before we left," said Fielding. "They're better equipped for this whole mess than we are. If we'd told them Megatron was on his way to the vault, they might have come right away instead of waiting until tomorrow."

 _They might have,_ Ratchet replied. _Or they might have decided that the best course of action was to simply track down and eliminate Megatron AND his host before they could get there._

Conrad flinched. _'They wouldn't really, would they? I mean, you guys are Autobots…'_

_If Ultra Magnus is in any position of power right now, that's a distinct possibility. Not all Autobots are as careful with human life as Optimus Prime, and some of our leaders have gotten rather ruthless over the course of the war. It's possible that they'll decide that one human life is worth being rid of one of our most dangerous enemies… what's the matter with Jon?_

Conrad shook his head and glanced up to see Jon waving frantically, like a student who knew the answer to a question and was trying desperately to get his teacher's attention. Once he was sure everyone's eyes were on him, Jon lowered his hand and spoke up.

"Prime might not know where the Repository is… but I think I might."

Silence. In the back of his mind he could almost hear the record-scratch sound of Ratchet's thoughts derailing.

"Okay, I've got a Decepticon ranting in here," Angela said at last. "He wants to know why you waited until NOW to bring this up."

"'Cause I wasn't sure at first," Jon admitted. "My memory's a bit muddled, and when Prime mentioned the Repository I thought it sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it. But now that I've had a minute to think it over… it's startin' to make more sense."

 _Jon,_ Ratchet said firmly, _you need to tell us everything you know. If you know anything about the Repository that might help us, share it._

Conrad relayed the Autobot's words. "Does this have anything to do with your time in the military? I thought you were part of Desert Storm, not stationed in the country."

Jon snorted. "Me bein' in Desert Storm was a cover. Only time I left the US for my military service was spending a month in Germany with a military research division in the Black Forest, looking for a UFO crash site. Turned out to be one of you Autobots' SkySpy drones that glitched and went down there."

"So there's a military division dedicated to looking for aliens?" asked Zach, looking positively delighted at the news. "Like Roswell, Area 51, all that jazz? Hunting ET?"

"Close," Jon replied. "More like a military research division that kept some troops handy in case they were ambushed in the field. We were called Sector Seven, and the US government assigned us to keep a covert eye on Cybertronian activity, 'specially anything that could threaten our national security. That included 'Bot activity as well as 'Con."

Ratchet fumed quietly in the back of Conrad's mind at that. _Your own government didn't trust us?_

"Government don't trust no one. They fully expected the 'Bots to turn on us humans once they'd gotten what they wanted, and they wanted to be one step ahead in case of that. An' believe me, Ratch, Prime wasn't happy when I told him 'bout this either."

"I've never heard of Sector Seven," Angela noted, frowning skeptically, "and I have a brother in the military. Are you sure this is real?"

"Not according to the government. On paper, Sector Seven don't exist. Hell, I don't know if it even still exists – when I got discharged they cut off all ties and I never heard from 'em again. Didn't even get my military pension from 'em, the scumbags…"

That explained quite a bit, actually. Jon had never been very forthcoming about his time in the military, and had never spoken about receiving any kind of benefits from them. And if they had denied him a pension or health care on the grounds of preserving the secrecy of his division, small wonder he was a bit bitter toward them. He felt a pang of pity for him, and vowed that he'd try to find some way to help him further once this whole mess was resolved.

"We're getting kind of off-topic here," Angela pointed out. "Jon, the vault."

"Oh, right." He cleared his throat slightly. "Last mission I served was guarding a research team that went into Zion to track down some weird energy readings. Turns out they were comin' from some kinda… metal tomb thing. Just kinda tucked into a crevice in Kolob Canyon like something outta _Indiana Jones."_

"Kolob Canyon…" Fielding's voice trailed off. "That's a religious name. So's Zion. If this vault really does contain relics of the Firstforged, then maybe it's no coincidence that whoever created it chose that location."

"Nah, the eggheads in our squad say the tomb dated back to before humans settled this area and started namin' things," Jon countered. "Carbon dating and stuff. But anyhow, they spent a couple weeks studying the doors to this place before deciding they were really Cybertronian… and of course they decided the next step was to break 'em down. So we dynamited the doors… and damned if they weren't even scratched by the blast. Damnedest thing. Sorry, Fielding."

"Stop apologizing all the time for swearing," Fielding groaned.

"Starscream says there are certain alloys that are virtually indestructible by physical means," Angie chimed in. "They're incredibly hard to come by, though, so whoever built the vault must have _really_ wanted to prevent a break-in."

"Given what's inside, can you blame them?" asked Conrad.

"So did you guys break in?" Zach asked eagerly. "And was there an obstacle course of DOOM inside like in _The Last Crusade?_ That would have been freakin' wicked!"

"You're enjoying this way too much, Zach," Angie noted. "Though I do admit it sure sounds like we just got stuck in an Indy movie."

Jon hesitated, his face suddenly darkening in a troubled look. "I… don't remember how we opened the thing. Maybe they found a control panel and brute-forced it. Or for all I know, it coulda opened on its own. All I remember is my squad and I were taking a lunch break when it happened. One minute we're fighting over who got the crappiest MREs, the next there's this unholy groaning sound like a demon's belching or somethin'… and the doors opened."

Conrad sucked in his breath. "What was behind them?"

"Dunno. There was this horrible smell that made my eyes water and my throat burn… and the next thing I know I'm flat on my back on a gurney, being stuffed into an ambulance. Later found out some park rangers came to check on our company and found everyone either dead or passed out, some having seizures and foamin' at the mouth."

Angela gasped, and Conrad felt his gut clench. Was this one of the defense systems Prime had alluded to? And they were about to go find and open this thing for themselves?

"I was one of the lucky ones," Jon continued grimly. "Lost twelve men that day, and those of us that survived… well, some went blind, some had lung and throat scars, others had brain damage or mental problems. And from then on I was cursed… cursed to see and hear the lizards everywhere I went. And for all our troubles, not only did we never find out what was in there, but we were discharged and packed off without so much as an apology, let alone any benefits. God bless America."

Angie reached forward to pat Jon's shoulder gently. "Jon… I'm sorry."

He snorted. "Don't be. Ain't your fault. And can't complain too much. Still got my sight and most of my mental facilities. Makes me luckier than some of my team." He sighed deeply. "I'll get out of this rut one of these days. Just hopin' for some good luck to blow my way."

"We'll help you," Conrad vowed, also patting Jon's shoulder. "Maybe Uncle Sam screwed you over, but we're your friends. We'll find a way to get you back on your feet."

 _As will we,_ Ratchet chimed in. _Maybe this is the reason Prime ended up inside of you – because you know how to guide us to the vault. This whole mess is our fault, so the least we can do in return for your help – both in taking care of our Prime and helping us find the Repository – is make some sort of restitution for the damage you suffered._

Jon blushed deeply. "Aw geez, don't go knocking yourselves out on my account."

 _They are your friends,_ Prime spoke up. _And after the time we have spent together, I would like to think of you as a friend as well. This is simply what friends do – look out for one another._ He went silent a moment, pondering. _This gas they spoke of… do you think it was put in place to keep humans from breaking into the vault?_

 _More likely it was some kind of preservation gas pumped in by whoever planted the vault in the first place,_ Ratchet replied. _Some kind of chemical compound to keep anything delicate, like circuitry or documents, from decaying over time. Something similar to what the Ark filled up with right after the crash to keep us from rusting beyond repair until we could be reactivated._

"So it might be safe to go in?" asked Conrad.

_It might… but all the same, we're going to have to be cautious. Whoever placed the vault may not have wanted it to be found. I wish we had some kind of drone to send in before we took our own chances._

"We'll make do with what we've got," Conrad replied. "First we focus on beating Megatron to Zion, then we have Jon lead us to the vault. After that… we play it by ear."

Angie smiled a little at that. "If that's anything the band's good at, it's playing by ear."

Conrad managed a smile back. "Then let's rock this mission. And rock it hard."

_Primus, and I thought Jazz was bad with his puns._

' _Oh, we haven't even gotten started yet…'_

_Spare me._

* * *

"Boss! Yo boss, can ya hear me in there?"

Megatron awoke, completely disoriented, his systems sluggish and feeling weirdly clogged up. His entire body felt… mushy, for lack of a better word, as if someone had pumped his chassis full of crude oil. And there was a lingering ache in his head that roared back to life with a vengeance, no doubt simply waiting for his consciousness to return before it attacked again.

His body took another few moments to awaken, and his limbs flailed of their own accord. The pain in his head took on a strange air of triumph and relief… and he realized it wasn't simply pain, but another presence invading his mind…

"Fraggit!" Rumble loomed over him, looking strangely huge for some reason. "The human's in charge right now! Frenzy, help me pin him!"

"Sorry, Boss sir," said Frenzy, grabbing and restraining his arms while Frenzy clutched his legs. "Please don't hate us for this."

It took him a moment to remember what was happening, but once realization hit he lashed out at the human's mind, wrenching back control of their shared body. Of course the blasted man would try to seize control at the first opportunity. That would prove a costly mistake… and he'd make him pay for this once they had the Repository's contents.

"Release me," he ordered.

The two cassettes shared a quick look. Then Rumble looked back down at him. "Why'd we organize the Europa 2000 race?"

"To obtain the Pearl of Bahoudin, you fool," Megatron retorted. "The weather-control device. Now release me before I have the two of you melted down and turned into tactical warheads!"

Rumble grinned and let go of his legs. "Yup, that's Megs! Sorry, sir, we just wanted to be sure it was really you."

Megatron's scowl faded as he rubbed his host's arms, wincing at the bruises forming where Frenzy had held on too hard. At least a few mechs under his command had the good sense to be cautious.

He pushed himself to his feet and looked around. His last memories were of climbing out of the human's vehicle in a parking lot… and of suffering a sudden bout of vertigo and collapsing. This wasn't a parking lot, however, but a muddle of rock and scrubland, with a tall sandstone cliff looming overhead in the pale moonlight. It had been dusk when they had arrived, but now it was full night, the blue-black sky overhead glittering with stars. Soundwave, Rumble, and Frenzy seemed to be gilded by the light of the moon, their armor gleaming with silver highlights.

"Report, Soundwave," Megatron barked.

The blue mech had been crouching over the three of them, but nodded and stood once it was apparent Megatron would be all right. "Location: Zion National Park. Arrived approximately two hours ago. Megatron's host suffered malfunction and went offline shortly after arrival. Human terminology for malfunction: convulsions or seizure."

Megatron scowled. It sounded as if the effects of his spark energies on his host were growing worse. If they didn't uncover the Repository soon, his host was going to die on him and he would lose whatever opportunity he had to regain his body.

"Where is Shockwave's host?" he demanded.

Rumble and Frenzy snorted in laughter. Soundwave offered the two of them a look that oozed exasperation even through the mask and visor, then nodded at a nearby boulder. The fortune teller was sitting cross-legged atop the rock, hands on her knees and a look of quiet contemplation on her face.

Megatron strode up to the woman and, without a word of warning, grabbed her hand. She made no move to pull away and simply hummed softly as she continued her meditation.

 _Are you well, Lord Megatron?_ Shockwave inquired, his calm voice tinged with just a hint of worry. _When your host collapsed we feared…_

 _It takes more than an organic malfunction to put me out of commission,_ Megatron cut in. _Has there been any sign that we were followed?_

_Affirmitive, my Lord. Shortly after we arrived, five of the other humans entered the park grounds. They are making their way further into the park as we speak. We judged it best to await your orders before we attacked them._

Megatron pondered that a moment. _Which ones?_

_Ratchet, Starscream, and Optimus Prime's hosts, and two humans without sparks._

_I see._ His first impulse was to order Soundwave's cassettes to wipe the five of them out. They had practically been handed the opportunity of a lifetime, after all – the chance to eliminate his most hated rival, his treacherous second, and that annoying medic in one fell swoop, while the three of them were practically defenseless. The other humans might not have sparks, but they should have known to keep their meddling olfactory sensors out of Cybertronian affairs in the first place.

But he held back on the order, thinking further… and finally he came to a decision. "Soundwave, send a cassette to trail them. Do NOT attack until I give the order."

Soundwave nodded, and his chest compartment dropped open. "Ravage, Laserbeak, eject. Operation: track Optimus Prime's host."

The panther dropped to the ground and immediately loped off, hunched low so that only his back and hip missiles were visible above the tangled sagebrush. The condor circled once over Soundwave's head, then swooped off.

 _You have a plan, my Lord?_ Shockwave inquired.

"Indeed I have a plan," Megatron replied, a smug grin on his host's face. "Optimus Prime knows where the Repository is, does he? Then we let HIM find it for us. Once he has located the treasures of the Firstforged… then we eliminate him, and take the Repository for ourselves."

_Brilliant, my Lord. If the Autobots were foolish enough to give us valuable information, let them also be foolish enough to do the hard work for us._

Megatron chuckled softly. Yes… let Optimus Prime and Ratchet do the dirty work for him. As undesirable as this whole situation had been for him at first, it was now proving to work to their advantage. He would come out of this crisis with unimaginable power at his fingertips… and even better, with three of his most irritating rivals eliminated. For that, he could almost thank Ratchet for striking that idiotic bargain with Primus. Almost.

* * *

By the time their unlikely party reached Kolob Canyon, it was full dark. Angie had dug a flashlight out of the trunk of her car to help light the way, and a nearly-full moon provided further illumination. Still, it was slow going, and Conrad found himself jumping at every little sound. He wasn't afraid to admit that he was thoroughly a city boy at heart, and every time he heard a rustle he imagined they were being stalked by a bear or a coyote or a serial killer… or maybe some restless Native American spirit…

 _You watch too much_ Supernatural, _son._

' _Oh, shut up.'_

"How much further?" Zach whined. "I think I'm getting another blister."

"Don't start the 'are we there yet' thing," groaned Fielding. "You did that for two hours on the way here."

"Can't help it," Zach whimpered. "If I knew we were going to be walking so much I'd have worn better shoes. These ones are crap."

"You knew we were going to a national park, not Lagoon," Angie pointed out.

"Well, it's not like we got a lot of warning that we'd be making this trip," Conrad told her. "I'm sure we all would have prepared better if we had the time…"

Jon stopped abruptly, and Conrad almost ran into his back before he could stop himself. He opened his mouth to snap at the man when Jon held up his hand, his eyes wide and bright with recognition.

"Jon?" he asked.

"This is it," the man murmured. "This is where our squad found the vault. It's gotta be."

Conrad peered around Jon's body to look for himself. About a hundred feet ahead, a deep fissure marked the canyon wall, gaping open like a gateway to some eldritch world. The vague light of the moon didn't penetrate deeply enough to show much, but he thought he caught a silvery glint within the fissure, like the eyes of an animal. Or, perhaps, a faint ray of moonlight landing on something ancient and metallic…

 _The Repository,_ Ratchet noted. _It's still here. Why hasn't anyone happened across it by now?_

' _Maybe they have and just haven't lived to tell,'_ Conrad theorized.

_That's certainly a possibility… though you'd think people would notice if the death count at this park suddenly went up. Especially if it came out that a Cybertronian artifact was causing said deaths. It could be there's something in place that just repels people, or discourages them from getting too close._

' _Or maybe the park rangers shoo people away before they can get too close.'_

_That could be it too. If your government really had an eye on this place, they might put measures in place to keep people from investigating too closely._

"Okay, who goes in first?" asked Zach, his earlier excitement dampened by dread.

"Hell no, I ain't gettin' close to that thing again," Jon said emphatically. "Not after last time!"

"I want a closer look at least," said Angie. "Even if we don't go inside, when are we going to get this chance again?"

"Angie, this thing has killed people!" Fielding protested. "Do you really want to be poking around with it?"

"I just want a look," she insisted. "What can that hurt?"

"Careful, Angie," Conrad warned her. "I don't want you hurt."

She smirked at him. "I'm a big girl. I think I can take care of myself."

Jon jerked in place, making a weird gurgling noise in his throat.

"What, you don't think I can handle- Jon!" Angie's grumble of complaint became a shocked cry as the veteran buckled and collapsed to the ground. His entire body convulsed in the dirt, his eyes rolling back, froth oozing from between his lips.

"Oh _shit,"_ Conrad hissed, and slapped Zach away when he tried to reach for him. "Don't touch him! Just let it run its course and make sure he doesn't hurt himself!"

"What the hell?" Zach demanded.

"My mom's a nurse, I've learned a thing or two about-"

"Not that! Why's he seizing in the first place? Did getting that close to the vault trigger something?"

 _Prime's spark,_ Ratchet realized. _The rarefied energon's effects are getting worse._

Conrad felt his heart plummet at that. "The spark's affecting him, Ratchet says. Damn it." He clenched his fists in helpless frustration. "If we don't get this fixed soon…"

Jon finally stilled, and for a horrible moment Conrad thought he was dead. He dropped to his knees and reached for his neck, fumbling to find a pulse… and went weak with relief when he found it, slow but strong. He was okay… for now.

 _Primus below._ Prime's thoughts passed through his mind. _I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…_

 _No,_ Ratchet said firmly. _Do NOT blame yourself for this, Prime. It's not like you intentionally sickened him; it's something entirely out of your control. If anyone's to blame, it's me for not accepting the will of Primus in the first place. If I had simply let our sparks pass into the Well of All Sparks as intended…_ He seemed to shake himself out of that line of thought. _At any rate, we can't go back and change it, only try to fix it now. And it's obvious we're running out of time. Any clue as to what to do next?_

Prime hesitated. _No. Our information only determined a possible location for the vault. Nothing on what it contained or how to get inside._

_Then we play it by ear, as Conrad put it. Hold on, Prime, and do what you can to keep Jon calm when he wakes up._

_I will._

Conrad pulled his hand away from Jon's neck and stood. "He'll be okay. I dunno when he'll wake up, but someone needs to be here with him."

Fielding nodded, and he pulled off his jacket and laid it over Jon like a blanket. "I'll keep an eye on him. The rest of you go on ahead. It sounds like we need whatever's in there, and fast."

Conrad nodded, and he turned and took Angie's hand. "All right… I guess we do this together."

She nodded and squeezed his hand. "I love you."

He smiled. "I know."

She snorted. "Are you Han Solo now, dork?"

"Given that we're on an Indiana-Jones-style quest right now, something by Harrison Ford seemed appropriate."

 _You two can quote movies later,_ Starscream hissed. _Get in there before she dies on me and makes all this for naught._

Angie rolled her eyes, then aimed the beam of her flashlight into the fissure. The two of them braced themselves and, hand in hand, stepped inside. Zach followed close behind, his gaze flicking around suspiciously as if expecting their group to be ambushed at any moment.

The fissure turned out to be a short passageway, terminating in a set of smooth metal doors about thirty feet high. Jagged rocks and chunks of unidentifiable debris lay scattered on the passage floor, the last remaining evidence of the army's earlier attempts to blast their way inside. The doors themselves, just as Jon had said, were unmarred by the detonations – indeed, despite the passage of what had to be centuries, they were so smooth someone could have used them as a mirror. Said doors were framed in a strange bluish-gray metal engraved with odd geometric-looking designs, and an odd symbol stamped the lintel. It looked too sharp and angular to be the Autobot symbol, yet wasn't quite a Decepticon symbol either; it was more like someone had taken both symbols and blended them together, creating an odd hybrid of the two.

 _That's Ancient Cybertronian,_ Ratchet realized. _So this WAS put here by a Firstforged, or at least someone devoted to them._

' _Can you read it?'_

_Fraggit, Conrad, I'm a doctor, not a linguist. Starscream, can you make any sense of it?_

_Bits and pieces,_ the Air Commander replied. _My knowledge of the old dialects is rusty – and if you laugh at the pun, girl, I'll take over your body and make you run into traffic._

"I wasn't going to say a thing," Angie replied, though she was obviously fighting back a chuckle.

 _Anything you care to share?_ Ratchet asked.

Faint, indecipherable mumbling as Starscream studied the runes. _The basic gist of it seems to be a "keep out" warning. That the contents are only to be accessed when the time is right, and anyone who opens the Repository before then will suffer dire consequences._

 _Something Sector Seven learned the hard way,_ Ratchet noted. _The question now is whether we'll suffer the same if we open it. If there was ever a time we needed what was in there, it's now._

"The trick'll be convincing the vault that it's the right time to open," Conrad pointed out. "That we really need what's in there. Hopefully it'll listen to reason."

 _Stupid human,_ Starscream sneered. _You speak as if it were something sentient._

"I'd fully accept a living vault in the middle of the desert at this point," Angie retorted. "Hell, at this point, I'd accept Jon's lizard men as fact…"

Her voice trailed off as the ground beneath their feet began to rumble. Pebbles quivered and danced on the passage floor, and the vibrations in the ground and walls set Conrad's teeth on edge. A low, hollow growl echoed from somewhere behind the doors, like an ancient engine shuddering to life.

"Earthquake!" Zach yelped. "Let's go before the tunnel collapses!"

"It's not an earthquake," Angie realized, eyes wide. "The doors!"

 _One of us must have activated a pressure plate,_ Ratchet realized. _Or maybe there's a motion sensor in there that still works. That could be how the army accidentally opened it last time._

Conrad's jaw dropped. The massive doors before them had opened a crack – just a crack, but enough that they could see a faint blue light shining through. Even as they stared in shock the doors slid wider, a whining groan filling the passage as mechanisms that had lain unused for years ground to life once again. A blast of warm air whooshed out at them, stale and dusty and overlaid with a weird chemical smell that made his eyes water.

 _The remnants of whatever gas filled it the first time,_ Ratchet theorized. _Seems to have dissipated, though._

' _Good. I'd rather not come out of this blind or crazy.'_

Finally the doors finished opening with a thunderous clang. There was an odd finality to that sound, like the slamming of a prison door or the clash of a blade. Conrad didn't know why he was making that comparison now, of all times, but he couldn't shake the feeling that they stood on the threshold of something huge, and that there was no going back now. Somehow the vault had opened for them… and they had to go in. So much was riding on them now.

"Well… let's see what's inside," he said at last.

"Watch for traps," Zach pointed out. "The way Prime made this sound, this could be a regular Tomb of Horrors for us."

"Someone's been playing too much DnD," Angie noted, but she nodded. "Let's go slowly. We'll have less chance of blundering into something that way."

Conrad nodded, and the three of them stepped through the doorway and into the cool blue light.

Fielding watched his friends until the blackness of the passage had swallowed them up, then turned his attention to Jon. He couldn't shake the nagging worry that something horrible was going to happen to them in there, but there was nothing he could do about that. Someone had to make sure Jon was all right, and he couldn't just abandon the man to go after the others.

He pulled off his shirt and folded it up, tucking it under the man's head as a makeshift pillow. The poor guy was going to have some scratches from thrashing around on the rocky ground, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries. Now all he could do was make sure he was comfortable until he came to.

A dry rustle rose from the sagebrush to his right, and he jerked his head around, feeling his heart pulse harder in his chest. If only the others hadn't taken the only flashlight! At this rate he wouldn't be able to tell if the intruder was harmless or hostile until it was too late.

A sleek shadow emerged from the brush, and his breath caught in his throat. A heady mix of wonder, fear, and even a burst of exasperation filled him at the sight. All his life he'd wanted to see a wild mountain lion, and of course now he'd get his wish at the worst possible time…

The creature raised its head, and its eyes flared blood-red in the light.

"Oh, nuts," he semi-cursed, and he groped for the nearest rock. "Get back!"

The Decepticon – what else could this thing be? – hissed in disdain and slunk closer. It halted in its tracks with a yowl when Fielding's rock bounced off its shoulder, but it shook itself and continued to stalk toward the young man, ears back and crimson gaze never leaving him.

"Guys!" he shouted, hoping the others were still able to hear him. "Guys, we've got Decepti-" The rest of his sentence was muffled by a metallic hand clamping over his mouth.


	15. Chapter 15

Conrad had half-expected the door to the Repository to lead to a cobwebbed stone corridor leading to some murky, equally webbed chamber full of dusty artifacts – in short, something straight out of _Indiana Jones_. He had no idea what the others were expecting, but he suspected they were probably thinking something similar. They probably weren't anticipating a long steel corridor, like a hallway from a _Star Wars_ spaceship but ten times bigger. Shiny silvery-white steel lined the walls, illuminated with blue-tinted panels set in the ceiling every thirty feet or so. Even as they watched more lights flickered on further and further down the corridor, until they were facing a hallway that ran the length of a football field before making a ninety-degree turn to the right.

Somehow the sight only unnerved him all the more. If this place was really millennia old, why did it look so shiny and new? There was no dust, no rust, no burned-out lights, and no sign of age save a musty, chemical-tinged smell to the air. And there was something about the sterility of this place that creeped him out, as if they were intruding on the lair of a Bond villain or a psychopath.

_Calm down, Conrad._

' _We're entering a death trap and you're telling me to calm down?!'_

_You're freaking out. Pause a moment and relax. You'll do us no good if you suffer a panic attack in the middle of this._

He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Ratchet did have a point – he was going to psych himself out if he kept this up. He had to try to keep a level head while they did this. Besides, if Ratchet was right and a Firstforged had built this place, they probably wouldn't be in too much danger, would they? If they really were the forefathers of the Cybertronian race, they had to be benevolent, right?

 _Actually, some of them were downright sadistic, according to the legends,_ Ratchet corrected. _At least one played traitor to Primus somewhere along the line, and several others staged coups to take over Cybertron and other worlds…_

' _You're really not helping.'_

Angie stopped, holding her arm out to stop the others. "Guys, wait."

"You see something?" asked Conrad.

"No," she replied, "and that's the whole problem. This is way too easy."

Zach nodded. "Check the ceiling. In DnD all the worst threats come from the ceiling."

"This isn't DnD, dude," Conrad replied, but looked up anyhow. No spikes, no lurking monsters, nothing but a smooth expanse of metal. Still, that didn't mean there wasn't something nasty hiding behind a trap door, waiting for them.

Angie's gaze moved up and down the wall. Then she pointed. "There."

Conrad looked. There was a small hole in the wall about four feet from the floor, with what looked almost like a camera lens inside. "What is that?"

"Starscream says it's some kind of motion detector," she replied. "Probably to activate a security system of some kind."

"Huh…" Zach mulled that over, then slipped off his shoe.

"Dare I ask what you're doing?" asked Angie, raising an eyebrow.

"Testing the system," he replied, and tossed the shoe. It skipped across the floor, rolling over a few times, before coming to rest on its side a short distance away. Conrad sucked in his breath, waiting for something to happen…

"Huh." Zach scratched his head. "Didn't work. Maybe the system's been inactive for so long it glitched."

"Try again," Angie advised. "Throw it higher. The motion detectors are set a ways off the floor."

"Sure, make me give up my shoes for the cause," Zach said in a tone of mock exasperation, and he pulled off his other shoe and lobbed it in a high arc. "Next time it's your shoes-"

The hallway lit up with a flash of yellow light, and a searing heat and the stench of ozone filled the air. Conrad yelled and stepped back, hands raised to shield his eyes. A high-pitched screech rang through the corridor, lasting long after the light had faded, and it took him a moment to realize it was coming from Zach and not from whatever had just happened.

"What the hell?" demanded Angie.

Zach kept right on shrieking.

Conrad lowered his arms, blinking furiously. His skin stung as if he'd just suffered a sunburn, and his vision didn't want to cooperate after being assaulted with so much light. He waited until his eyes had adjusted before looking back at the floor… only to see a smear of ash where Zach's shoes should have been.

"Holy shit," he breathed.

 _Primus,_ murmured Ratchet. _Whoever built this wasn't messing around._

"How are we supposed to get past that?" Zach demanded, voice still shrill from his earlier fit of hysteria. "We go any further, we get fried alive!"

"Not if we're careful," Angie pointed out. "The whatever-it-is… the disintegration wave, I guess… didn't turn on when he threw that first shoe. Maybe if we keep low enough, we can get through?"

"Maybe," Conrad replied, his voice hesitant even to his own ears. "Those motion sensors are what, ankle-height on an Autobot? Maybe they just weren't designed for short humans in mind."

"Yeah, like midgets or toddlers," Zach pointed out. "What are we supposed to do, army-crawl the whole way?"

"At least until the motion sensors stop," Angie replied, and she got down on all fours. "C'mon."

Conrad had no desire to go down that hallway, but he saw little choice. He lowered himself to his hands and knees and began to crawl, wincing at the hot metal under his hands and knees. Behind him he could hear Zach grunting and huffing as he literally crawled on his belly, evidently not willing to take any chance of sticking a body part too high and activating the disintegrator again. He was sure they all looked completely ridiculous, but at the moment he would take ridiculous and alive over dignified and dead.

They were about halfway to the turn when he finally thought to look up. "Hey guys, the motion sensors have stopped."

"Doesn't necessarily mean we're in the clear," Angie replied. She carefully gathered her feet beneath her, then slowly stood up, every muscle in her body tense. Conrad didn't relax until she was standing and fully upright.

Zach pushed himself to his feet with a grunt. "Dude… do you have any idea how hard it is to army-crawl? Respect for Crazy Jon if he ever had to do that in the military."

"Let's keep going," Conrad advised. "Keep your eyes peeled."

"Why do people say that anyhow?" Zach wondered as they walked on. "I mean, who peels eyeballs? Besides a serial killer…"

"You're disgusting, you know that?" Angie said with a grimace.

"What, I'm just making a point."

"Even Starscream thinks your line of thought's creepy."

"Well, you can tell Mr. Starscream where to stick…" His voice trailed off, and he froze in place. "Uh… guys?"

"What…" Conrad glanced up… and went rigid himself. Angie gasped and stepped back, paling.

Something had just rounded the bend in the corridor – a black-and-gold metallic form that looked as if someone had crossbred a scorpion with the Terminator. It scuttled forward on multiple insectoid legs, waving arms that ended in wicked scythe-like claws, and its tail – tipped not with a stinger, but with what looked like a freaking cannon – bobbed and swayed like some nightmarish robotic cobra. Its head bore, not the compound eyes of an insect, but a crimson Robocop-style visor, and mandibles the size of steak knives gleamed beneath the visor.

Zack uttered a dry squeak, as if he wanted to scream but had expended his voice with his last shriek of horror.

' _Ratchet? W-what do we do?'_

_I don't know! We're not equipped to fight something like this!_

' _It's gotta have an off switch or something!'_

_Most drones have a shutdown mechanism at the neck joint, but good luck getting close enough to this one to manage…_

The creature hissed, and its visor flashed to bathe the three of them in crimson light. Conrad flinched, expecting to be vaporized on the spot. But the light faded with a peculiar beeping sound, like a checkout scanner. The drone went still, as if pondering, then uttered a garbled mishmash of beeps, growls, and strange chattering.

 _It said something,_ Ratchet realized. _Some dialect of Cybertronian..._

Angie went limp with relief. "Starscream says we're safe."

"Why?" asked Conrad, and winced as the word came out an octave higher than he would have liked. "Why?" he repeated, in a more normal tone.

"Because it said so," she replied.

_And what precisely did it say?_

"Ratchet wants to know exactly what it said."

She rolled her eyes and imitated a robotic tone. " _Analysis completed. Organic life forms. Threat to Repository: minimal. Action taken: ignore."_

"So… because we're squishy animals, it's gonna leave us alone?"

"Pretty much. At least, if Starscream's interpretation was correct – and he's insisting it is."

_So essentially we have to put our trust in Starscream, Megatron's number one backstabber, that this thing isn't going to hurt us. Somehow I'm having a little trouble with that._

' _Can't imagine why.'_ Aloud he said "Well… I guess if it hasn't hurt us yet, it's not going to attack?"

"I guess not." All the same, Angie gave the creature as wide a berth as possible as she bypassed it. The thing watched her go, but made no move to attack. Conrad followed, and Zach scurried after them, whimpering.

"Scorpions… why'd it have to be freaking scorpions?" he moaned. "Why couldn't it have been spiders? At least they have to be scared or pissed off before they bite you, scorpions are just bastards…"

"You're scared of scorpions?" asked Conrad.

"You would be too if you got chased and stung by one when you were in Boy Scouts," Zach retorted. "Seriously, I didn't even hassle it, it came right for me! Had to go to the freakin' hospital too…"

His voice trailed off in another squeak as they rounded the corner… and found several more of the robotic scorpions milling about, hissing and chattering to one another. As one they turned to regard the intruders, and again beams of red light fell over the three humans as each one scanned them as the first had done. And just as the first had done, they each gurgled a phrase that Conrad took to mean "ignore" and dismissed them, going back to patrolling the halls as they must have been doing for eons.

' _How are these things still running after all this time?'_ he wondered. _'Don't their batteries run out or something?'_

 _They've probably lain inactive for centuries, waiting for any sign of movement before activating and trying to stop the threat. Thankfully whoever programmed them must have neglected to have them watch out for organics. Maybe…_ His voice trailed off.

' _Maybe?'_

_Maybe this is why we've ended up in your bodies. Because only an organic could get inside the vault._

' _Whoa… so Primus DID have a reason for this!'_

_Still, you think he could be somewhat forthcoming with… look out!_

Conrad stopped in his tracks and flung his arms out to keep the others from going any farther… and not a moment too soon. A wall of rippling blue energy had snapped into being not three feet ahead, blocking their path. Every hair on his body felt like it was standing on end, and an ominous buzzing sound filled the corridor, as if they were standing next to a high-voltage wire.

"Geez, they really wanted to keep the burglars out, didn't they?" Zach noted.

"How on Earth do we get past this?" Angie wondered aloud, squinting to peer through the latest obstacle. The energy wall was transparent, but it distorted their view of what lay beyond somewhat, as if they were looking through blue-tinted water. Still, Conrad thought he could make out a room… a room full of transparent cases containing strange objects, almost like a museum or a jewelry store.

"This is it," he realized. "The Repository. It's gotta be."

"Yeah, but with this thing in the way?" Zach gestured toward the energy wall. "Might as well be buried in concrete. I doubt being organic is gonna get us past THAT."

"There might be some kind of off switch," Angie suggested. "Or a way to hotwire it…"

"None of us are tech experts," Zach pointed out. "I mean, sure, I've cracked a few Wiis in my time, but there's a difference between a Wii and alien technology…"

' _Ratchet? Any hints?'_

_To be honest… no. I have no idea what to do from here. My specialty is in repairing living mechanisms, not hacking locks._

Conrad clenched his jaw in frustration. So close… they were so close to their goal! And yet they were thwarted by a high-tech electric fence, locked away from the one thing that could possibly save them by a barrier he had no idea how to pass. To have come so far, only to fail within sight of the goal…

No. He shook his head, trying to chase away thoughts of angry despair. No, he wasn't going to give up this easily. Lives were depending on them – innocent lives, both human and Autobot. If he gave up now, he was consigning them all to death. If he was going to fail, he at least wanted to fail knowing he had done everything in his power to reach their goal.

"Okay guys… this could be the stupidest thing I've ever done." And he stepped toward the wall.

"'Rad, you better not be doing what I think you're doing," Angie demanded, eyes wide.

"Dude, are you crazy?!" Zach yelped. "You'll get crisped! Like a bug in a bug zapper!"

"What else are we going to do? Just stand here and stare at the vault like idiots? Give up? If we do that, people die. We've got to try something, and if it fails… at least we tried, right?"

"Try, yes, but you're gonna get yourself killed!" Angie protested. "'Rad, please…"

 _Listen to her,_ Ratchet urged. _You could get seriously hurt if you just walk through there. We can find another way…_

"There's no other way, guys. Someone's gotta do this." He swallowed, trying to fight back the sudden surge of fear that filled his gut. "If… if anything happens… go back out and call Autobot City."

"'Rad, don't you dare…" began Angie.

Conrad didn't wait for her to finish. He inhaled deeply and took a long stride forward, through the energy wall…

And stopped, dumbfounded. He had been expecting an electric shock, or at least a tingle. But there was only the briefest tickle on his skin, like walking through a spider's web. He looked down at himself to be sure that he wasn't horribly burned and simply couldn't feel it due to scorched nerve endings, but he seemed to be unhurt.

_It… it worked. Primus below us, it worked!_

"It worked!" Conrad repeated, and whirled to face the others, grinning widely.

Zach gave a gusting sigh of relief. "Geez, dude, you about gave me a heart attack there!"

"If you EVER scare me like that again, Conrad Reginald Hawkins, I will kick your ass before I break up with you!" snarled Angie.

"I love you too," he replied, his grin never fading. "Come on through, guys, it's safe."

Angie's angry look faded, and she braced herself and stepped through. Zach made to follow… only to recoil the minute he made contact with the energy wall, yowling in pain.

"Sonofabitch!" he howled. "It shocked me!"

"I didn't feel a thing," Angie protested, frowning.

Conrad reached up and put a hand through the energy field. "That's weird… why would it zap Zach and not us?"

Angie cocked her head in a "listening" pose. "Starscream thinks it might be because the two of us have sparks… and Zach doesn't. The energy field's calibrated to allow anything with spark energy to pass through, but not organics or sparkless drones. So the other defenses were meant to take out any Cybertronians trying to break into the vault, and this was meant to keep out anyone _else._ "

 _That makes a lot of sense,_ Ratchet noted. _Though the designers probably didn't count on humans with sparks coming inside._

"So I'm locked out? Aww, man." Zach pouted. "I wanted to see the alien treasure room. So what, do I just wait out here?"

"That'd be best," Conrad admitted. "We'll be out as soon as we can. Don't go anywhere."

"Sure thing," Zach replied, grousing a bit. "Zappy plasma wall in front of me, robot scorpions behind me… happiest place on Earth, I can tell ya that."

Conrad turned slowly in place to get a better look at the vault. The size of a high school gymnasium and illuminated with a pale gold light, its walls were lined with transparent display cases. Tables that might have come waist-high to an Autobot but loomed over his head carried more of the same clear cases, their contents tantalizingly out of reach and sight. Only the contents of the wall cases were visible… but even that was enough to impress him.

"Whoa…" He approached the nearest display, a futuristic-looking sword with an electric blue blade. "What IS that?"

 _The Star Saber,_ Ratchet breathed. _A legendary weapon that could only be wielded by a Prime. Incredible… and look, the Forge of Solus Prime! Said to be the tool she used to craft many of these very relics!_

' _Where?'_

_Right next to it, look!_

' _What, that hammer thing?'_ Okay, so it was a freaking huge and impressive-looking hammer, but still, he wasn't expecting a hammer to be among the legendary relics…

_And the Chaos Edge – that black-bladed sword there – and the Requiem Blaster! And the Triptych Mask! Primus… some of these items were thought to be lost forever! Oh, what Optimus wouldn't give to know they were still intact…_

"Whoa, look at that," Angie breathed, taking Conrad's hand and pointing to a towering display case in the corner, one that contained a massive set of futuristic armor. "What's that?"

"Looks like a mecha suit," Conrad murmured. "Weird… why would a mech need a mecha suit?"

 _That's the Apex Armor, smart-alek,_ Ratchet informed him. _Designed to protect the wearer and give them extra power when they fought. And it supposedly fits any life form, not just a Cybertronian. Primus, this is incredible…_

"What about those?" Conrad asked, pointing to a collection of weapons that looked like they had been carved from crystal. "Those look pretty awesome."

 _I… I don't recognize those,_ Ratchet admitted. _There's a sign there, but again, ancient Cybertronian…_

 _Weapons of the Blades of Primus,_ Starscream translated. _Weapons of the Blades? Sounds pretty redundant if you ask me._

"Screamer, can you at least pretend to be excited by all this?" asked Angie.

 _It's all very impressive,_ Starscream noted in a thoroughly unimpressed tone, _but you're forgetting one thing – how are we supposed to get these relics OUT? Our hosts couldn't even hope to budge one of them, let alone haul the whole lot out._

_Oh hush, you. We're not here for all of them. Just the Scourge of Maximo… if it's even here. Conrad, maybe if you give Angie a boost on your shoulders, she could see what's on the tables…_

A voice sounded at that moment, one with a vaguely electronic undertone as if the speaker were talking through a megaphone. It was pleasant, even friendly, but still nearly made him jump three feet in the air before he could get a hold of himself.

"Conrad Hawkins, Angela Zaradnichek… welcome to the Repository. Welcome, also, to you, Medical Officer Ratchet and Air Commander Starscream. Please, do not be alarmed. We have been expecting you."

* * *

The last thing Ratchet had expected was for the Repository to be inhabited. Surely a vault that had been sealed off from the outside world for millennia couldn't have housed a living being for all this time. But as a white-armored form stepped out of a corner he could have sworn was empty a moment ago, he could only hope that this oversight wouldn't get the four of them killed.

Conrad stepped back, pulling Angie with him. Ratchet couldn't exactly blame him… and now he realized why humans were always so skittish around the Autobots, even after reassurances that they were safe in their presence. He'd never realized just how BIG they were to the humans. True, this one looked a fair bit taller than the average Cybertronian – not quite Skyfire's height, but still easily taller than Prime – but the size difference between his kind and Conrad's had never fully sunk in for him before now.

The mech stepped fully out of the shadows, the golden light gleaming on heavy white-and-bronze armor decorated with elaborate gold scrollwork. Oversized pauldrons jutted from his shoulders, making him look broader than he actually was, and blue wings lay folded down his back like a cloak. Scarlet optics gleamed from blue faceplates whose seams had deepened with age. All in all, the mech exuded an aura of power and authority, carrying himself with a regal air.

Recognition struck Ratchet at that moment. This couldn't be… could it?

' _He's got a sword,'_ Conrad pointed out, panic rising in his part of their shared mind. _'Why's he coming at us with a sword?'_

_Calm down, Conrad, he's not going to hurt you._

' _Just how do you know that?'_

_Vector Prime has never been known to harm organics. In fact, he's probably one of the most benevolent of the Thirteen._

' _Wait… this guy's a…'_

_Yes, Conrad. We're standing in the presence of a Firstforged._

Angie's jaw dropped. Starscream, for once, was struck utterly dumb.

Vector Prime still gripped his sword in one hand, but rather than sheathing it or tucking it into subspace he merely set it point-first before him, folding his hands over the pommel and leaning on it as if it were a cane or staff. He studied the two humans for a long moment, then nodded once with a satisfied smile.

"My apologies for startling you," he told them. "But there wasn't much of a way to warn you I was coming." He raised a hand in a welcoming gesture. "Vector Prime, Guardian of Time, member of the Thirteen Firstforged."

"C-Conrad," Conrad managed to get out. "Conrad Hawkins. And Ratchet, I guess… but you seem to know that already."

"How?" asked Angie, finding her voice at last. "How do you know that? And how did you know we would be here? Can you see the future or something?"

Vector chuckled. "You could say that. I don't bear the title of the Guardian of Time for nothing, after all. I travel up and down the timestream as I see fit to ensure its integrity – no small feat, mind you, given how much the Autobots and Decepticons in this universe seem to like to tamper with temporal energy." He snorted a bit in irritation. "But that's another matter entirely."

"You said 'we,'" Conrad pointed out. "How many of you are there here?"

"Just two," Vector assured him. "Myself and Micron Prime… though he prefers to be known by his nickname, Safeguard."

As if on cue a tiny white-armored form peeked out from behind Vector's leg… though "tiny" in this case meant "just slightly shorter than Angie." Armored in white and blue, with a pointed helm reminiscent of elfin ears, he waved and gave a cheery series of beeps in greeting.

"Hey, Safeguard," Angie said, relaxing a bit and waving back. "Why is he so much smaller than you, sir?"

"He's a minicon," Vector replied. "A sub-race of Cybertronians that are typically much smaller than average. But again, we're getting off the subject."

 _Vector Prime, sir… you know who we are,_ Ratchet said, hoping the Firstforged could hear him. _Do you know why we're here? And how we came to be in… well, in this state?_

Vector nodded. "A bargain with Primus gone wrong… well, gone quite right, actually, even if it was slightly inconvenient for all parties involved."

 _Slightly inconvenient?_ Starscream demanded. _We're trapped in flesh prisons! Our presence is poisoning our hosts, and it's only a matter of time before they die on us and kill us with them!_

"Your concern for your host is touching," Vector noted dryly. "But as I'm sure you have noticed, Primus did not act without a plan in mind. He rarely acts without purpose, and in your case, he had a definite purpose in mind."

"Finding the vault?" asked Conrad.

"Fulfilling his bargain with Ratchet, actually. He promised to spare those killed in the Battle of Autobot City and its aftermath, but needed to find a logical means to do so. As he could not keep your original bodies functioning, he did the next best thing – transferred your sparks to other living beings, ones who lived close enough to the Repository to reach it without much difficulty. The Repository was not the ultimate end to his plan, simply a means to an end."

Relief filled Ratchet at that. _Primus DID know what he was doing! Only an organic could have gotten into the vault… but only someone with a spark could have bypassed the final obstacle._

Vector smiled. "As the humans would say, gods work in mysterious ways."

"So… the spark extractor's really here?" asked Conrad. "We didn't come all this way for nothing?"

In response Vector crouched down, holding out his hand. Conrad and Angie exchanged a wary look, then stepped into his hand, and the Firstforged straightened, holding them at chest level to give them a better look at the nearest table. "Look."

Conrad's gaze fell on an object set on a black steel pedestal in a clear case – a vaguely disc-shaped item with one jagged edge, as if some creature had taken a bite out of it. Runic markings were stamped along the smooth edges, and in the center was a fearsome-looking symbol that Ratchet realized must be a portrait of Liege Maximo himself.

"Looks like Robot Satan," Conrad noted. "Or Cthuhlu."

"Cthuhlu doesn't have horns, dork," Angie countered.

"Oddly enough, neither of you are too far off the mark," Vector replied. "Liege Maximo did not betray Primus as the Fallen did, but he did set himself against the rest of the Primes, declaring that if we stood for all that was good in the universe, someone had to stand for all that was evil to ensure there was balance. He has proven a thorn in our sides for some time."

 _And we're supposed to use the artifact named after him to save our lives?_ asked Starscream. _Sounds suicidal if you ask me._

"The Scourge of Maximo, while it was crafted by him, is not evil in and of itself," Vector explained. "It is neither good nor evil, merely a tool created for a purpose. It can be used with good intent or evil… and I have a feeling that in your hands, Ratchet, it will be used for great good. But do not allow it to fall into the wrong hands, or the consequences will be horrific."

 _Yes, sir,_ Ratchet replied, knowing that a great responsibility had been laid on his shoulders. _I won't fail you._

Vector nodded slowly. "Safeguard, open the case."

The minicon beeped and scrambled up onto the table, agile as a monkey. He muttered electronically to himself as he inspected the base of the display case, then pressed his hand to a small panel set into the back. There was a click as a mechanism unlocked, and Vector lifted the transparent portion and removed the disc.

"So that's it?" asked Conrad. "It's that easy? You're just going to give it to us?"

Vector nodded. "The artifacts are given to those most in need of them."

"What about the rest of it?" asked Angie, waving her hand to indicate the entire Repository. "Is it just going to sit here? There's so much history here, so many amazing things…"

"So many amazing things that can be terribly misused in the wrong hands," Vector replied, shaking his head sadly. "No, Angela… the rest of the relics must remain in hiding. In fact, once the four of you leave, the vault will be moved to another location. If there comes a time when one or more of the artifacts are needed, they will be removed and given to the one who needs them… but for now, it is for the best that they remain hidden."

Ratchet wanted to argue with Vector – the most important discovery in the history of their kind, and it was being snatched away almost immediately – but he found he couldn't. Vector did have a point – if Megatron or some equally bloody-minded mechanism got their hands on the Repository, the consequences could be devastating. He didn't like it, but he saw the logic in it.

"There will come a day when the Repository will be opened again," Vector noted, his gaze briefly moving toward the display of the Weapons of the Blades. "But not yet." He handed the spark extractor to Conrad. "Take this. Restore your people. And help Rodimus Prime restore Cybertron."

Conrad took the disc, grunting a bit from the weight. To a Cybertronian it would have been the size of a large coin, but to the human it was like carrying a medieval-style shield. "Yessir."

Vector lowered the two of them to the floor. "Good luck, the four of you. Until all are one."

 _Until all are one,_ Ratchet replied. _And thank you._

* * *

"Dude, I missed meeting the Doctor?" Zach griped as the three of them headed for the doors of the vault. "For once I wish I'd gotten Brawn's spark instead of my dad."

"He was a Firstforged, not the Doctor," Angie corrected.

"He's a Time Guardian, that makes him some incarnation of the Doctor," Zach pointed out. "Who says he couldn't have regenerated as a robot somewhere along the way?"

"One of you want to stop yakking and help me carry this thing?" demanded Conrad. "It's not exactly light."

"Hey, Vector Who said Ratchet was responsible for it," Zach pointed out. "I guess that means you're stuck with it. Besides, I helped push the thing while we were crawling under the crispy-trap again, so that should count for helping."

Angie rolled her eyes and reached out to take one edge of it. "Seriously, Zach, you are so unhelpful."

In a way, Conrad didn't really want to leave the vault. Knowing that this place was going to vanish after they left made him want to stick around, just to be sure it didn't go away. Even if he didn't understand a lot of the history behind its contents, he was sure Ratchet could explain things to him. And if any of the stuff in here could help the Autobots win their war once and for all…

They stepped out into the canyon, and immediately Conrad sensed something was wrong. "Guys… where's Jon and Fielding?"

"Maybe Jon woke up, thought the lizards were coming, and ran off," suggested Zach.

"I don't think so," Angie replied. "Maybe they went to go get help?"

Before Conrad could make his own guess, someone stepped out into the moonlight – Jon. Conrad didn't have time to feel relieved, though, because right behind him was the bishop… and from the sinister grin on his face and the fact that his arm was locked around Jon's throat, it was a safe bet that Dr. Donaldson wasn't in control at the moment.

"So you found the spark extractor." His voice was a sneering rasp. "Excellent. Now hand it over this instant… or I kill your friend, and Optimus Prime with him!"


	16. Chapter 16

Despite Vector's warning and the knowledge that the Scourge was the only thing that could help them, Conrad's first instinct was to hand the artifact over immediately. Never mind that the spark extractor was their only chance of getting the Autobots back in their bodies and saving their human hosts; the thought of anything happening to Jon or Prime was enough to make his guts squirm, especially when he could prevent it. Only Angie's grip on his arm kept him from stepping forward to surrender the relic.

 _Don't you DARE, Conrad!_ Ratchet snapped. _Don't even think about it! If Megatron gets his hands on the Scourge of Maximo, there's no telling what he'll do with it!_

 _Listen to the Autobot, blasted human,_ Starscream added. _I'm not going to kill myself just to save your pathetic friend. That thing's our ticket to saving our lives._

' _Can you two just shut up?'_ Conrad demanded. _'I'm trying to think about this!'_

"My patience is wearing thin, Ratchet and Conrad," Megatron snarled. "Step forward and set the spark extractor on the ground, then step back. Once my soldiers have it, I will release your friend."

Somehow, despite the gravity of the situation, Jon looked incredibly calm. He didn't even seem to notice the arm around his throat, or the robotic panther that slipped out of the shadows to pace in front of him as if to ensure he didn't squirm free and make a break for it. Had his military training kicked in? Was Prime in control of their body at the moment? Or was he simply resigned to his fate? Conrad had no clue.

"Where's Fielding?" he asked, trying to buy himself a bit more time. "What'd you do with him?"

Megatron rolled his eyes. "You fleshbags are horrible at following directions… Rumble! Frenzy! Bring out the other human!"

Two more robots came into view – one purple and blue, the other black and red, and both only slightly taller than the average human. The purple one had Fielding's arms pinned behind his back, while the black one had a pistol aimed at his head. Fielding was inexplicably shirtless, though a white undershirt still covered his chest, and he had bruises around his mouth – probably from one of the Decepticons covering his mouth to keep him quiet, Conrad guessed.

"You guys all right?" Fielding asked.

"We're fine," Angie assured him. "What about you?"

"About as good as can be expected. You guys found it?"

"No, we picked up a weird-looking hubcap from the side of the road," Zach replied. "What do you think?"

"Enough of this," Megatron snapped. "Hand over the Scourge of Maximo, and your friends go free. Otherwise I kill them both right in front of you!"

"Don't do it, kid," Jon protested. "Take the extractor and run. I ain't worth it."

"That will be enough out of you," Megatron sneered, and Jon gurgled ominously as the grip on his throat tightened.

"Stop it!" Conrad shouted, terror gripping his innards in an icy fist. "Just let him go!"

"I have already made my terms clear, human – the extractor or your friends' lives. And don't even think about running. Soundwave's cassettes will chase you down before you can make it out of this canyon. The Scourge is mine regardless of what you do… I am simply giving you an option of getting something in return."

Angie squeezed Conrad's arm so tightly it felt as if she were cutting off the circulation. "Don't…"

 _Conrad… don't…_ Ratchet's voice was tight with fear, and Conrad could feel the horror at Jon and Prime's predicament radiating from his corner of their mind. But he could also feel that the medic was trying to keep a firm grip on his emotions, and was desperate to keep the relic out of Megatron's hands at all costs.

For a long moment he stood there, torn, wanting desperately to save his friends but also knowing that giving Megatron the extractor would doom everyone else to a painful death. If only there was some kind of third option…

Then something occurred to him, and some of the tension in his gut eased. He took a deep breath, then wrenched his arm free of Angie's grip and stepped forward.

_Conrad!_

' _I can't just let him kill Jon, Prime, and Fielding!'_

_If you hand the extractor over, we all die anyhow!_

' _You said yourself that you wanted to help Prime! How do you expect to do that if Megatron offs him right now? I have to do something!'_

_Stop right now, Conrad! I promised you I wouldn't hijack your body, but if you keep this up I-_

He held back the urge to roll his eyes, and he THOUGHT his plan as hard as he could at the medic. Maybe this was overkill, but at least it would shut him up.

 _I thought I told you not to shout your thoughts,_ Ratchet grumbled. _And why didn't you say anything earlier? This just might work if we play this right…_

"Excellent." A gloating grin crossed Dr. Donaldson's face, and his grip on Jon's neck loosened. "So there's some sense in your disgusting organic brain after all."

Conrad stopped in his tracks ten feet away. "Let one of them go right now, and I'll give you the extractor. And call off your attack kitty."

The panther flattened his ears and growled.

"You're in no position to be bargaining, boy," Megatron sneered. "But let it not be said that I'm entirely selfish." He nodded at Rumble and Frenzy, and they released Fielding so suddenly that he staggered. The young man bolted, running for Angie and Zach. The panther, meanwhile, slunk to stand behind Frenzy, his optics never leaving the humans.

Conrad braced himself, making his way forward. The extractor was right within Megatron's reach… but he'd have to let go of Jon to get his hands on it, right? That's what he was counting on…

"Give it to Rumble and Frenzy," he ordered. "Then step back. I'll let your friend go only when the extractor is secure."

So much for that theory. But maybe he could make this work regardless.

"You want the relic so bad, Megs? You can have it. But why not try it out first?" And before Megatron could react he lunged forward, jabbing the jagged edge of the extractor into the bishop's chest.

Megatron howled in pain and staggered back, releasing Jon in the process. Jon staggered, gasping for air, and scrambled away. Conrad gritted his teeth and mumbled an apology that he hoped Dr. Donaldson could hear, then shoved the extractor harder against him, hoping this was how the thing worked and he could at least get the psychotic Decepticon out of the poor guy…

Huge metal fingers closed around him, and he flailed his legs as something lifted him into the air. The extractor fell out of his hands and clattered to the canyon floor.

_NO!_

' _Dammit!'_ Conrad tried to wriggle free, but the hand closed tightly around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He continued to struggle even as the fist tightened, threatening to crack his ribs.

"Hold still," a monotone, heavily synthesized voice advised him.

He craned his neck to look up at his captor – a blue-and-white Decepticon whose face was hidden behind a white mask and a scarlet visor. The mech stared impassively back, and somehow Conrad got the feeling that even behind the mask and visor he wore no expression whatsoever. Somehow that chilled him even more than a sneer or a maniacal grin would have – this being seemed to regard him not with hatred or even contempt, but with complete dismissal, as if he were nothing more than a speck of dust he was about to brush away.

 _Soundwave,_ Ratchet thought. _Let him go. He's just a human… he's of no consequence here…_

Soundwave shook his head. "Treachery against Megatron: not tolerated. Consequences: severe."

Down on the ground Zach and Angie bolted forward, trying to get to the extractor first… but Rumble and Frenzy moved to intercept them. Rumble tackled Zach to the ground, and the two rolled in the dirt, the Decepticon trying to pin the skinny clerk and Zach jamming his fingers into his joints and yanking at whatever wires and cables he could get his hands on. Frenzy grabbed Angie's arms and pinned them behind her back, but she retaliated by kicking and stomping for all she was worth.

"Ravage, retrieve spark extractor," Soundwave ordered.

The panther pounced, landing atop the Scourge. He pawed at the edges as if trying to figure out how to pick it up, then grabbed one edge in his jaws and tried dragging it toward Soundwave.

_Primus, no! We have to do something!_

' _I'm kind of tied up right now!'_ Conrad protested. _'There's jack-all I can do up here! Unless you have any bright suggestions!'_

But someone else intervened before Ratchet could come up with any ideas. Ravage yowled as Jon slammed into his side, sending him sprawling. The panther twisted around to bite the man, but Jon was quicker, grabbing for something at the base of Ravage's neck. The cat gave a violent jerk and collapsed, optics going dark and limbs limp.

"Ravage." There was no inflection in that monotone voice, no change in volume, but Conrad could literally _feel_ the anger and horror radiating from Soundwave at that moment. The Decepticon's grip on him loosened, and he slid out of his hand and to the ground as the blue mech stooped down to scoop the cat up in his hands.

Before Conrad could even mentally register as much as an "oh shit, this is gonna hurt," his body moved of its own accord. He felt his arms move to cover his head, his knees bend, his legs tuck under so he hit the ground feet-first. He still landed rather heavily, collapsing onto his side, but by the time he thought to panic, it was over.

 _Sorry,_ Ratchet told him. _I know I promised not to take over, but I wanted you to land with as little injury as possible._

' _I forgive you… this time.'_ He tried to get up but stopped when he felt a weird crunching sensation in his ankle. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt… not yet anyhow. But he was sure he was going to be hurting like nobody's business once the adrenalin wore off.

_Get to the extractor! Fast!_

' _I can't even walk, dude!'_

_Blast it… where's Jon and Fielding? Maybe they can do something._

Conrad looked around quickly. The extractor was about thirty feet off to one side, still lying in the dirt where he'd dropped it. Jon and Dr. Donaldson were facing off a few paces away from it, circling slowly like two street fighters about ready to begin a match. Dr. Donaldson still wore the angry sneer of Megatron, but Jon looked eerily calm… and there was a glint in his eyes and a set in his jaw Conrad had never seen before. Either his military training had kicked in with a vengeance or…

"Megatron." That was Jon's voice, but with an inflection Conrad had never heard before – one of calm power and authority, of steely determination. "This ends now."

"Indeed it ends, Prime," Dr. Donaldson hissed. "With you dead at my feet, and with the relics of the Firstforged in my possession!"

* * *

 _Prime's taken over Jon's body,_ Ratchet realized, recognizing that expression on Jon's face in an instant. _Most likely with his permission – I can't see him forcibly taking control. No wonder he knew how to shut Ravage down so fast… I just hope it doesn't get either of them killed._

Megatron made the first move, closing in and hooking a fist around to punch Prime in the jaw. Prime rolled his head back, trying to lessen the force of the impact, and he retaliated by bringing a fist up to slam into the other man's gut. Megatron doubled over with a wheeze, and Prime took advantage of his momentary weakness to grab his arms and slam him into the canyon wall.

"This fight ends NOW, Megatron," he insisted. "We're all in the same predicament right now – all dependent on the spark extractor to save our lives. This will go much more smoothly for all of us if we work together to get it back to Autobot City than if we fight over it."

Megatron gave a mocking laugh and rammed an elbow into Prime's face. "Get it to Autobot City so you can pull our sparks out and destroy them? Or lock them in stasis for an eternity? I think not! Not when I have a chance to gain the Scourge of Maximo, and be rid of YOU once and for all!"

Prime stumbled back, blood pouring out of his nose, but he wasn't deterred. "If that's how it is… then so be it. If you can hear me, Mr. Donaldson, I apologize in advance for this." And he charged again, tackling the other man to the ground. The two hosts grappled furiously, dust flying up in clouds as they struggled to overpower the other.

' _They're going to kill each other all over again,'_ Conrad thought exasperatedly.

_At least Prime's distracting Megatron for the moment. But Jon's body isn't in the best of health – even with Prime doing the fighting, I don't know how much longer he can hold him off. We've got to get to the extractor, fast!_

Conrad tried to get to his feet, but pain flashed up his leg as he collapsed again. Ratchet couldn't help a wince himself – despite his efforts the poor kid had screwed up his ankle in the fall, and possibly fractured other bones as well. But Conrad wasn't giving up, it seemed. Instead of trying to get up again, he simply crawled toward the extractor, grabbing it and dragging it beneath him as if trying to shield it with his body.

"Soundwave, get the extractor!" Megatron bellowed.

"Aw, shit," Conrad grumbled. "Fielding, give me a hand here!"

"Kinda busy at the moment!" Fielding shouted back, and Conrad looked up to see the young man backed into a corner of the canyon by Laserbeak, trying to fend the cassette off with a long branch. Laserbeak shrieked indignantly as Fielding poked him in the optic with one end, but the cassette-bird didn't let up his attack.

Conrad forced himself to his feet, crying out in pain when he put weight on his broken ankle. He pulled the extractor to his chest and hobbled away from the fighting, making his way toward the canyon exit. Behind them Ratchet could hear the thud of metallic footsteps – Soundwave was right behind them, and any moment now he would either step on them or pluck the extractor out of his host's grip…

Then Conrad made an abrupt turn, ducking into a fissure in the wall of the canyon. It was barely wide enough to accommodate him, but he wriggled back as far as possible anyhow. The ground shook as Soundwave knelt to peer inside, visor flickering as he silently calculated the width of the passage and determined there was no way he was going to be able to pry the human or the artifact out. For a long moment human and Decepticon stared at one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

 _Good thinking,_ Ratchet told him. _He can't wait out there forever. Sooner or later the Autobots will arrive and he'll have to flee._

' _Unless he decides to grab one of the others and use them as a hostage,'_ Conrad pointed out. _'If it almost worked for Megatron, he might decide it'll work for him too.'_

_Fraggit. I didn't think about that._

' _None of us thought about anything, it sounds like. Whose bright idea was it to come after the vault again?'_

_Would you rather Megatron beat us here and figured out how to get inside himself?_

' _Vector would have chased him off! He was pretty adamant about Megs not getting the spark extractor.'_

_For all we know, Megatron could have found some way to sweet-talk him into turning it over. Or maybe Maximo himself would have turned up had Megatron made it in. I don't know, I'm not an expert on how the repository OR the Thirteen work-_

"Megatron!"

Conrad rolled his eyes. _'Oh great… Madam Lunatic's getting involved.'_

 _Unless Shockwave's taken over her body at the moment,_ Ratchet pointed out. _Either way, this just got a whole lot worse…_

Soundwave backed away from the fissure and turned to regard Madam Sapphique, inadvertently giving Ratchet and Conrad a clear view of what was going on. Prime and Megatron were still fighting, their hosts' clothes ripped and dusty, blood streaking their faces and spotting their chests. Upon spotting the approaching Sapphique, however, Megatron seemed to regain a surge of strength, driving Prime down into the dirt and holding him there.

"Shockwave!" he barked. "I told you to stand guard!"

"You did, my Lord." Sapphique's voice mirrored Shockwave's now, still feminine but with the gunformer's refined accent and cool tone. "Decepticons are approaching from the southwest… but no Decepticons I am familiar with."

Megatron scowled. "What the frag do you mean?"

"Precisely what I said, my Lord. A dozen fliers, all of the same body type, and a violet jet. I am unable to hail them over standard communication channels, given this body, but for now I assume they are unfriendly."

"Cyclonus," Soundwave provided. "Acting Commander of Decepticon forces in Megatron and Galvatron's absence. Conclusion: discovered Communications Officer was MIA and comes to investigate."

"Blast it all to the Pit!" Megatron snarled. "Get the extractor! I'll finish off the Prime and – aargh!" He had been trying to stand up, but something in his host's back cracked, and he hunched over, face contorted in agony. Prime scrambled out from beneath him, a dazed look on his face.

"My Lord!" Shockwave hurried to his side.

Soundwave tilted his head to the side at that moment, as if receiving a radio call. "Buzzsaw reports. Cyclonus not alone. Autobots approaching from east. Recommendation: retreat."

 _Oh frag,_ thought Ratchet. _Beautiful timing, Rodimus._

' _And this is where everything goes to hell in a handbasket, right?'_

_Just… stay where we are. This is gonna get messy._

Everything seemed to happen at once in that moment. An explosion rocked the canyon, sending rocks hurtling down the sides of the chasm. Several large boulders careened past the fissure they were hiding in, though thankfully none blocked the way out. More explosions ripped through the quiet of the night, interspersed with the crack and whine of blaster fire, the thunder of jet and vehicle engines, and the grinding of transformation cogs. Other sounds joined the cacophony – fists on metal, heavy footsteps, screams from the humans as they scrambled to get out of the way…

Ratchet would have ground his dental plates if he had the ability. So this was what an Autobot/Decepticon battle felt like to the humans who happened to get caught in the fray. Poor bastards. Small wonder so many of them froze in terror or ran around in a panic whenever their city suddenly became a battlefield. Before he had simply rolled his optics at their apparent stupidity, but now he could completely understand their hysteria.

Conrad shifted the extractor under one arm and wriggled out of the fissure.

_Conrad!_

' _Angie's out there!'_

Ratchet wanted to point out that getting himself killed wasn't going to help Angie or any of the others. But a massive foot came down a yard away from them, and he judged it best not to distract him any more than necessary. He was going to need all his concentration to avoid getting squashed or fried at this point.

It was bedlam as far as he could see. Blue batlike Decepticons tangled with the Autobots everywhere he looked – Jazz, Sideswipe, Springer, Ultra Magnus, Grimlock and the Dinobots, even Arcee and Elita-1. At the entrance to the canyon a bulked-up version of Hot Rod – Rodimus Prime, he corrected himself – faced off against a lavender mech with comical-looking horns on his helm but a fearsome expression on his faceplate. Soundwave stood with his back against the canyon wall, gun out and firing at whichever mech was closest regardless of their faction. Evidently there was no love lost between him and this Cyclonus character.

Movement out of the corner of Conrad's eye caught his attention. _Over there!_

Conrad turned. Jon was waving from the fissure that led to the repository… and behind him were Angie, Zach, and Fielding. Jon was a bloody mess, Angie looked scraped and bruised, and Zach held his arm like it had been injured somewhere along the way, but none of them looked seriously hurt. Conrad blew out a sigh of relief and began to make his way toward them.

"Are you all right?" he shouted over the din of the battle.

"Get over here!" Fielding shouted back. "We can talk when you're not getting shot at!"

He nodded and limped toward their group. Despite being no stranger to pitched battle himself, Ratchet couldn't help but flinch every time an energy blast struck the ground near them, showering them with dirt, or a metallic foot came close to crushing them. Somehow it was much different in a fragile organic body… and it gave him a whole new appreciation for how much of a risk Spike and Carly had taken when they had accompanied the Autobots to the battlefield.

Jon grabbed Conrad's arm and pulled him into the fissure. "You okay, kid?" His voice had taken on its usual timbre, indicating Jon was back in charge.

"Think I busted my ankle," Conrad replied. "But I'll live. What about you? You're a mess!"

"Aw, I've been whaled on harder than this," Jon assured him. "Dunno if it's the body or the mind inside it, but Megatron hits like a teenage girl."

Fielding snorted in laughter.

"Speaking of which… where is he?" asked Conrad, turning to look back out at the battle.

"If he was smart he took cover," Angie replied. "I just hope he's okay… for Dr. Donaldson's sake."

"What happens now?" asked Zach. "We just wait for them to finish beating on each other?"

 _That's about all we can do,_ Prime replied – given that the five of them were huddled pretty closely together, his words were able to reach everyone and not just his host. _Wait, and hope the Autobots can route these new Decepticons and either come to a truce with Soundwave, or somehow drive him away. Then we rendezvous with the Autobots and go with them to Autobot City. From there… we hope the spark extractor works._

"I tried using it on Megatron," said Conrad, "but nothing happened. Just hope I wasn't using it right and it's not that the thing is broken or anything…"

"What the heck is Madam Sapphique doing?" Fielding cut in, pointing.

That was a good question – the woman still hadn't left the battlefield. In fact, she seemed entirely oblivious to the pitched battle around her, focused instead on digging through a pile of rubble that had fallen during that first explosion. And as she hurled a rock the size of her head out of the way Ratchet thought he could make out an arm…

"Oh my god," Conrad gasped. "Dr. Donaldson!"

"Oh, son of a-" Zach bolted from their hiding place, making for the rock pile. Angie and Fielding were right behind. Jon paused only long enough to loop Conrad's arm around his shoulders and support his weight before helping him out of the fissure.

"Why didn't that stupid moron get out of the way?" Conrad grumbled, limping forward as fast as he could. "Does he still think he's indestructible or something?"

 _Something… happened… while we were fighting,_ Prime replied. _Something in his human host's back gave out. It probably made him unable to get out of the way in time._

Conrad swore long and heartily, and Ratchet couldn't help but echo his sentiments. Megatron's idiocy might have just gotten himself – and more importantly, an innocent man with a family – killed. Good riddance to Megatron, but if Dr. Donaldson died, Ratchet would never forgive himself.

By the time he and Jon got to the rock slide, Madam Sapphique and Zach had managed to uncover the bishop's head and most of his torso. They were struggling to push a good-sized boulder off the man's legs now, but Ratchet wondered if it was too little, too late. He was utterly still, covered in bruises and scrapes, and one of his arms was bent at a sickening angle.

_Primus below…_

Conrad pulled free of Jon and knelt down beside the man, hissing at the pain in his leg. He touched two fingers to his neck to feel for a pulse… and was almost blasted backward by the wave of raw fear that poured out of the man. Megatron was still fully conscious… and he was utterly terrified.

' _Geez!'_

 _Megatron, you have to calm down!_ Ratchet ordered.

 _The extractor!_ Megatron howled. _Use it! Blast you, get me out of here before he dies and my spark snuffs! I'll do anything-_

 _For the love of Cybertron, SHUT UP!_ Ratchet roared, focusing all his medical authority into his mental voice. _Or so help me, I'll have him extract your spark and put it in a Commodore 64!_

That shut the Decepticon up, though his presence in both their minds still glowed with panic. So the mighty Megatron was mortal after all, and could still feel fear. But now was no time to gloat.

"I've got a pulse," Conrad reported. "It's faint, but it's there. He's not breathing, though."

_You have some kind of procedure to get the lungs going again, right? NPR or whatever?_

' _CPR,'_ he corrected. _'It's been awhile since I took the class… I just hope I'm doing this right.'_ He planted his hands on the man's breastbone, took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and began chest compressions.

 _What in Primus' name are you doing?_ Megatron demanded, his voice brimming with anger and panic. _Why are you wasting time with-_

"I'm saving your life, shut up!" snapped Conrad, not letting up. "I'm trying to count compressions here."

 _I'll count, you push,_ Ratchet advised. _C'mon, Mr. Donaldson, pull through…_

Conrad kept going, pushing the man's chest in a steady rhythm, pausing to deliver a rescue breath every thirty compressions. Ratchet helped as much as he could, counting compressions and providing encouragement, occasionally snapping at Megatron to calm down whenever the warlord seemed to be going hysterical again. The battle raging around them faded into the background, little more than a dull roar at the edge of their minds as they focused on the task before them.

Hands abruptly grabbed at them, and Conrad flailed, lashing out to punch whoever was pulling him away.

"'Rad, it's me!" Angie shouted, grabbing at his wrist to stop the blow. "Geez Louise…"

"He's not dead!" Conrad shouted back. "I've got to keep going…"

"The EMTs are here, they're going to take over. Just don't freaking hit me!"

Conrad shook his head and looked around dazedly. Ratchet, too, felt as if they'd just woken up from a particularly intense dream. The battle had ground to a halt even as they'd been working on saving Dr. Donaldson, leaving Kolob Canyon a charred and rubble-strewn mess. Two of the bat-winged mechs lay deactivated on the canyon floor; the rest, including the lavender mech, seemed to have fled. Soundwave loomed over the rock pile where Dr. Donaldson lay, as if standing guard over his leader, though he was flanked by Grimlock and Blaster and had his hands cuffed behind his back. And human emergency personnel were on scene as well – Ratchet counted at least three ambulances, and several police officers were present, questioning the other humans and talking with the Autobots.

"Move, kid," an EMT said testily. "Let the professionals take over from here."

Conrad quickly moved aside, letting the paramedics hurry in to haul the man onto a stretcher and get him stabilized. He took a bad step on his broken ankle and staggered, yelping in pain, and would have collapsed had Fielding not rushed in to support him.

_Are you all right?_

' _Yeah… leg hurts like hell, though. And kinda tired now that the adrenaline's worn off. Geez, it's been a weird night.'_

_That's one way to put it. I never thought I'd be addressing a Firstforged or saving the Great Slagmaker's life, let alone both in one day… but I suppose there's a first time for everything._

' _So now what? Where's the Scourge?'_

Ratchet felt a chill creep through his spark. That would just be his luck, that in all the struggle to save Dr. Donaldson they would drop the spark extractor and lose it to a rogue cassette…

"You must be Conrad."

"Huh?" He looked up, giving Ratchet a rather impressive view of a familiar mechanism.

_Ultra Magnus… fancy seeing you again._

"Uh… Ratchet says hi."

For the first time in what must have been eons as far as Ratchet knew, a smile tugged at the corners of the truckformer's mouth. "That answers my question. Ratchet can hear me, then?"

"Yes, sir."

Magnus nodded and held up his hand. "Then he knows the significance of this?"

Warm relief flooded both their minds at that. "That's the spark extractor! It's what we came here for!"

Magnus looked the item over – and somehow it seemed far less impressive in his hands, the size of a coin and ridiculously flimsy-looking. "It bears the markings we've come to expect of items relating to the Thirteen… let's just hope it's the real thing and not a forgery."

"Vector Prime himself handed it over to us, I think it's real."

"Vector… Prime." Magnus' optics rebooted as he processed that. "There's a long story here, I'm sure."

 _There'll be time for it later,_ Ratchet replied. _Right now there are a number of humans here who need to get to a hospital, and fast. Including my host, even if he'll deny it. Then we need to get everyone afflicted with a spark to Autobot City before time runs out._

Conrad relayed all that, and Magnus nodded. "First Aid is helping to transport the injured. Though given the extent of one human's damages, we may be bringing Perceptor and his lab equipment here rather than risk a transport to Autobot City. And Rodimus will want to search this area for the repository. The spark extractor was hardly the only item of note in there, I'm sure."

The repository… Ratchet had forgotten about it in all the fuss. Vector had warned them that the repository would be moved, but given how quickly the Autobots had come here, certainly there hadn't been time…

' _It's gone.'_

_What do you mean?_

Conrad helpfully turned his head toward the fissure… or rather, the spot where the fissure had once gaped open in the canyon wall. Only a jumbled mess of rock remained – an explosion during the fighting must have triggered a rockslide, sealing it off. And somehow Ratchet knew that even if Rodimus insisted they dig it open again, they would find nothing but a dead-end passage. The repository had served its purpose, and for now it was gone again.

But Ratchet didn't say so. All he had Conrad relay was _For now, I think saving human and Autobot lives takes precedence. Let's get them to the hospital and worry about getting our sparks out._

Magnus frowned, but nodded slowly. "It's good to hear from you again, Ratchet, even if it's by proxy. You were greatly missed." And he stood and strode off.

' _Aw, they missed you, Ratch.'_

_More likely they missed having a competent medic around for a change. Still, it'll be good to see everyone again._

' _Yeah… can't wait to see their faces when they see you're stuck in a goofy flesh body, though.'_

_Oh Primus… I didn't even think about that. The twins are going to have a field day with this._

' _There's twins with your kind? Are they cute?'_

_Get your head out of the gutter, they're mechs. Brothers. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker._

' _Those two are twins? They don't even look alike- ow! Dammit, I keep forgetting about this ankle.'_

_I'll give you a rundown of who's who among the Autobots later, kid. For now let's get you to a hospital._

Conrad nodded, and he didn't resist as a female EMT took his arm and helped him over to a stretcher. All the same, he couldn't seem to resist one last look at where the entrance to the repository had been… and Ratchet would have been lying if he had said he wasn't disappointed to find it still sealed. Some part of him still wanted to look around in there, and explore the relics of the ancient Primes.

Perhaps they would find it again, and he could satisfy his curiosity. But saving the lives of his comrades, and setting right the mess he'd gotten them into, was the biggest priority.


	17. Chapter 17

Conrad ended up riding from the hospital to the Autobot outpost in Salt Lake City in Sideswipe, a red mech who turned into a Lamborghini. The Autobot had been rather enthusiastic about volunteering to transport him once he'd learned just who he played host to, and given the guy's alt mode Conrad found no reason to complain. Hey, what sane guy would pass up an opportunity to take a spin in a Lamborghini, an Autobot, or both? Even if he wasn't the one driving, it was still the chance of a lifetime.

And if it meant Sideswipe was full of questions, commentary, and ribbing for Ratchet… well, that was worth it in his mind.

"You know how fraggin' boring it's been without you, Ratch?" Sideswipe asked. "Sunny and I never thought we'd miss you THIS much! I mean, it just ain't the same tormenting First Aid – he just lets things roll off him. Doesn't even react to our pranks, never seen him lose his temper… it's no fun."

 _Glad to know I was missed as a source of entertainment,_ Ratchet grumped. _How's First Aid taking his new role? I assume he was made CMO in my stead?_

"Yeah, but it still ain't the same. He's good at what he does, but he's _boring._ No witty retorts, no insulting us for whatever bolt-headed stunt we pulled to land us in medbay THIS time. Just tells us to be more careful next time. Never thought we'd miss that from you, Ratch."

_Your concern for me is touching, Sideswipe._

Conrad decided this wasn't really a conversation he needed to be interfering with, so he kept silent. Privately, though, he thought that it was kind of sweet that he'd been missed, even if he'd been known primarily as a grouch among the Autobots. Then again, it sounded as if being a grouch was how he'd shown he cared about his comrades.

"Whoop, looks like we're here," Sideswipe noted, braking to a halt and opening his door. "Need a hand out, 'Rad?"

"I got it." He scooted across the seat and swung his legs out, then reached for his crutches. "Thanks for the ride."

"No prob, 'Rad! Anything to help the ol' Doc-Bot, and helping you helps the Hatchet for now, it looks like. Take care. See you after you get all ugly again, Ratch."

 _Frag off or I'll weld your mouth shut when I get my body back,_ Ratchet snapped.

Sideswipe cackled and drove off.

Conrad adjusted the crutches under his arms, then lurched forward. _'Gah… these things are harder to use than I thought.'_

_Why not use a wheelchair, like Zach's father?_

' _They generally like to reserve those for people who have something wrong with both legs. I'll figure this out. Eventually."_

_Let's hope so. By the way, your mother's dead ahead._

' _Wait, what? Who brought her here?'_

_Frag if I know. Brace yourself, she looks angry._

"Conrad Reginald Hawkins!"

"Please don't use my middle name," he groaned, looking up. "Mom, I'm fine…"

"You are most certainly NOT fine!" she snapped, rushing forward and crushing him in a tight embrace. "What happened? What did they do to you? I KNEW this was a bad idea!"

"It's not the Autobots' fault," he insisted, trying to wriggle out of her grip. "Soundwave picked me up and dropped me, but I'll live. Just broke my ankle and bruised myself, but I can even go back to work tomorrow so long as the Autobots clear me after getting the spark out."

"I knew this was a bad idea," she repeated, releasing him and moving to lead him into the building. "Why couldn't you just wait until the Autobots could go with you? You knew it was dangerous!"

"Megatron would have beat us there. We had to make sure he didn't swipe the extractor and keep the rest of us from using it."

"I still say you should have waited," she insisted. "Or at least called Autobot City and told them. They could have done something."

"Mom, honestly, quit fussing…"

"I'm your mom, it's my job to fuss." She sighed, squeezing his shoulder lightly. "I'm just glad you weren't hurt worse."

"Yeah… me too. I gotta sit… the adrenalin's worn off and I'm sore."

"Let's see if there's some kind of waiting room in here, then."

The Autobot outpost was huge – though that was a given, seeing as it had to be built to accommodate giant robots. It took a few minutes of walking before they reached an area that looked like a lounge, with a screen big enough to use in a movie theater playing a weather report on one wall and chairs of various sizes grouped about the room. His mom helped him into a human-sized chair in one corner of the room, then sat down beside him and pulled out a book.

Conrad propped his injured ankle up on a low table and flopped back with a deep sigh. What a day. He was going to be glad when this was all over with and he could go back to his usual boring life. Maybe the Autobots enjoyed having this much excitement on a regular basis, but he'd had his fill in the past couple weeks.

_Believe it or not, our lives aren't always this exciting. Even a war has some slow periods._

' _Yeah, but still… it's gonna be a relief to have things go back to normal. Or at least semi-normal. For both of us, right?'_

_That's true. And no offense, but I'm going to be grateful to get my body back. This business of having to share is getting pretty irksome._

' _I can imagine.'_

Someone flopped into the chair on his other side, and he turned to see Angie lying limply beside him, looking as if she'd just finished a triathlon. A gauze pad had been taped to one side of her forehead, covering up a set of stitches, and she was still covered in dirt from their recent escapade in Zion. Conrad wondered if they'd get a chance to shower before being turned over to the Autobot scientists.

"Hey," he ventured.

"Hey," she grunted. "How's the leg?"

"Been better. The painkillers kicked in finally, at least." He gestured toward the cast. "Wanna sign it?"

"Maybe later. Any word from the Autobots?"

"For now they've just asked us to sit tight and wait for them to call us together. I guess they want their scientists to look at the spark extractor and make sure it actually works and isn't dangerous. That, and make sure all the Autobots have bodies to go back to."

"I hope they hurry. Starscream's getting really restless in here." She frowned. "What are they going to do with the Decepticons? I doubt they're going to just let their worst enemies go free."

Conrad shrugged. "I guess that's up to them to decide. Though I hope they give some of them a chance. Not all of them seemed that bad."

"That's kinda shocking coming from the guy who got tossed around by a 'Con."

"Well, I wasn't meaning THAT guy…"

"Is this seat taken?"

"Hmm?" He looked up to see Theresa walking up. "Oh, no, go ahead."

She nodded and carefully lowered herself into the chair across from him. Mom looked up from her book, flashed Theresa a polite smile, and returned to reading.

"So how soon before everyone gets here?" asked Conrad.

"Most everyone showed up just now," Theresa replied. "Mr. Bowen even brought the duck. Complained about having to drive the whole way here with it making noise in his back seat."

"Try driving here with a dog," his mom replied with a laugh.

"Speaking of which, where's Gandalf?" Conrad asked. "Thought he'd come in with you."

"Someone named Red Alert took him when we got here. He said all animals were subject to a scan before he could allow them in the base."

"It's not like a dog can do much damage to an Autobot, but whatever," Conrad said with a shrug.

"I think we're waiting on Dr. Donaldson is all," Angie cut in. "I talked to his wife before we left the hospital, and she said something about them wanting to make sure he was stable before moving him."

Conrad winced at the memory of the bishop, broken and nearly dead on the rocks, before shoving it aside. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"Eventually," she replied. "He took a real beating. But his wife says his chances of a full recovery are good." She sighed softly. "Poor lady… her husband told her he had a spark, but he didn't tell her whose it was. It must have been a real shock to her to find out who was sharing bodies with him."

"I can imagine." Something else occurred to him. "Theresa… is my dad here?"

She bit her lip at that. "He couldn't get the time off work. I wish he were here, though… I'd be a lot more comfortable with all this with some support. Especially with the baby… I just hope whatever they have to do to get Wheeljack out doesn't hurt her."

Conrad's mom looked about ready to interject at that point, but decided against it. He had a feeling she'd been about to slam his dad but was holding her peace for Theresa's sake. Probably for the best – he might not like everything his father did, but his stepmom loved him and wouldn't take it too kindly if they started bad-talking him in front of her.

Thankfully they were saved from further awkwardness by the sound of thunderous footsteps… and a shadow falling over the four of them. Conrad tensed and looked up, finding himself eye-to-optic with a massive, winged, blue-and-yellow mech.

"Which one of you Ratchet and Wheeljack?" he demanded, voice rough and raspy.

"Uh…" Conrad wondered if he dare respond.

"I'm Theresa Hawkins," Theresa greeted, raising a tentative hand. "I'm Wheeljack's host."

"WHEELJACK!" The mech's bellow of glee nearly bowled the four of them out of their chairs. Before anyone could react the Autobot moved with surprising speed, scooping Theresa out of her chair. She shrieked and clung to his hand in an effort not to fall.

 _Dammit Swoop!_ Ratchet growled. _I thought I taught him some manners!_

"Us Dinobots missed you!" Swoop went on, holding Theresa against his chest like a doll. "Him Sludge cried and him Snarl not come out of room for days… him Slag pretend not to care, but me Swoop know better…"

"Not too tight!" Theresa shouted, slapping his chest. "You're going to squish the baby!"

"Baby?" Swoop held her at arm's length and looked her over, cocking his head from side to side. "Where baby?" A brief pause, presumably as Wheeljack told the mech precisely where the baby was, then Swoop's optics flared in surprise. "…oh. That weird. But okay… me Swoop be more careful."

"H-hi, Swoop," Theresa said with a shaky smile. "So Wheeljack's like your father, is he?"

Swoop nodded enthusiastically. "Him Wheeljack and him Ratchet build us Dinobots. Our creators… so like parents." He peered down at the others. "One of you Ratchet?"

Conrad hesitated, then raised his hand. "That'd be me."

"Ratchet!" Swoop shifted Theresa to one hand and, before Conrad could get away, scooped him up with the other. "You okay! Well, kind of okay… but you alive!"

 _I'm alive, yes,_ Ratchet replied. _It's good to see you again, Swoop. Just be gentle, okay? Humans are fragile, and we've done enough damage to our hosts lately – I don't want them hurt or inconvenienced any more._

"Okay… but me Swoop still want take you to see other Dinobots." He turned and strode out of the lounge, ignoring Conrad's mom as she shouted for him to "get back here right now!"

"How many of you guys are there?" asked Conrad, putting a hand out to steady himself. Being carried by a giant robot was a weird experience – he could feel himself bobbing and swaying to the rhythm of Swoop's steps, as if he were on some kind of slow but high-altitude carnival ride. He wondered if it was possible to get motion sickness from hauled around by a Cybertronian.

 _Five of them,_ Ratchet replied. _Grimlock, Swoop, Snarl, Slag, and Sludge. Swoop, how have they been taking things since I left?_

"Not good," Swoop replied, frowning. "Them miss you Ratchet and you Wheeljack. Even Grimlock and Slag, even if them not admit it. Them put on tough-mech acts, but me Swoop know better."

_What about everyone else? How has the transition of the leadership worked out?_

Swoop snorted. "Most mechs like him Hot Rod… I mean Rodimus. Even Grimlock, because him Rodimus more action, less talk and negotiation like Optimus. But me Swoop not so sure. Him Rodimus whine and complain about being Prime a lot, like him not want job. Me Swoop tempted to smack him Rodimus upside head and tell him quit whining and do job, but him Ultra Magnus say me Swoop lose position in medbay if me Swoop do that."

_And if Ultra Magnus pulled that stunt I'd just reinstate you. A good whap to the head never hurt anyone, and it's put more than one turbo-revving young punk back into line._

' _Why does Swoop talk like the Hulk anyhow?'_

_The Dinobots don't have as advanced of processors as other Autobots. But don't think they're stupid because of that. Grimlock may lack common sense at times, but he's brilliant when it comes to battle strategy. And Swoop has the makings of a fine medic in him._

Swoop ducked his head shyly at the praise.

"Swoop!" Another massive mech rounded the corner, this one red and silver and with what looked like weirdly-shaped wings on his shoulders. "You Swoop found them? Found Ratchet and Wheeljack?"

Swoop nodded down at Conrad and Theresa. "Him boy Ratchet, him girl Wheeljack. No touching! Not want break them!"

The second mech – another Dinobot, Conrad guessed – had been reaching out to snatch the two humans up, but he jerked his hands back as if burned. He rocked back and forth on his feet, uttering an eerie keen that made his teeth vibrate. "Th-that really them… them not dead…"

"Oh geez… uh, don't cry, Dinobot…" Conrad ventured.

 _Sludge,_ Ratchet provided.

"Don't cry, Sludge… uh, if you guys can even cry…"

"Me Sludge missed you Ratchet and you Wheeljack!" Sludge bellowed, and he covered his face with his hands and began sobbing noisily. "Thought me Sludge would never see you again! Awwwww!"

"You Sludge stop crying!" snapped a third mech, this one red-faced and with what appeared to be a Triceratops head hanging from his shoulders. "Making Dinobots look wimpy with crying!"

"Me Sludge can't help it, Slag!" Sludge wailed. "Just… just happy him Ratchet and him Wheeljack back!"

"Them really back?" Slag peered into Swoop's hands, a scowl on his face. "Huh… them shorter than me Slag remember."

 _Missed you too, Slag,_ Ratchet thought with a hint of amusement in his voice. _Where's Snarl and Grimlock?_

"Him Snarl still moping in room," Swoop said in an aggrieved tone. "Him Grimlock…"

"Dinobots back off!" roared a new voice, this one deeper and louder. Slag and Sludge backed away in a hurry, and Swoop clamped his mouth shut and held his hands out toward the masked silver-and-gold mech who stormed up to see what was going on. Conrad gulped and edged back as far as he could on Swoop's hand. The newcomer was only slightly taller than the other Dinobots, but he still radiated an aura of power and ferocity, as if he were liable to snap and go on an animalistic rampage at any moment.

Grimlock stalked closer until he loomed over the two humans, his visor flashing as he looked them over. He reached out with a finger to poke at Conrad, almost knocking him over.

"Hey!"

"You squishy human really Ratchet?" Grimlock demanded.

"He's in here with me, yeah." He sat up, rubbing at his side where Grimlock had poked him. "You wanted to talk to him or something?"

Grimlock's face was hidden from view, but somehow he managed to look hopeful. "To him Ratchet and him Wheeljack, yes."

"Give us your hand," Theresa urged.

Grimlock hesitated, then held out his hand. Swoop took the hint and carefully transferred the two humans to Grimlock's hand, and the towering Dinobot cupped them close, never taking his optics off of them.

 _We're really here, Grimlock,_ Wheeljack assured him. _No one's pullin' your leg, if that's what you were thinking._

Grimlock snorted. "No one touch any Dinobot's leg and live to tell about it." He gave a gleeful laugh. "Me Grimlock happy to hear you Wheeljack again! Us Dinobots got LOT to tell you Wheeljack and you Ratchet! Me Grimlock taking you back to Dinobot quarters to see him Snarl, and to catch up."

 _Just don't monopolize us too long,_ Ratchet advised. _Before too long the scientists will need to see us to get our sparks back into our proper bodies._

Grimlock boomed a laugh at that. "Him Perceptor take forever to get anything done! Us Dinobots get time with you Ratchet until him ready."

Conrad figured it was in his best interest not to argue. If a Dinobot wanted quality time with his resident Autobot spark, after all, who was he to say no?

* * *

Jon winced a bit as he sat down on the floor in a corner of the lounge, away from where the other host humans had gathered. Despite his assurance to Conrad earlier that Megatron's host hadn't dealt too much damage, he was sore and bruised, and his nose still throbbed from that elbow to his face. It wasn't the worst thrashing he'd ever been given, but it was still going to leave him hurting for a while, and probably give him a few new scars to boot.

 _There are plenty of chairs, Jon,_ Prime told him. _You don't have to sit on the floor._

' _I know,'_ he replied, _'but look at me. I'm a mess. Don't wanna get the chairs dirty.'_

_At this point, I think dirt on the chairs is the least of everyone's concerns. And you don't need to keep yourself apart from the others. I'm sure they would appreciate your company._

Jon sighed. _'Right now… I don't know how fit of company I'd be. Lived on the streets by myself so long, trying just to survive and avoid the lizards, I've almost forgotten how to be good company for anyone. I'd just rather be by myself for now.'_

_Very well. I won't push you. But know that I only want to help you. You've done so much for me, and I feel I should do something to make up for the trouble I've caused you._

' _Aw, don't worry about it. Just tryin' to be a decent human being here.'_

From his vantage point he could see a group of Autobots approaching the corner of the lounge where most of the host humans had gathered. One of them, a black-and-white mech with short horns and a blue visor, crouched down and asked for someone named Prowl, and the young boy immediately shot up out of his chair and ran forward. The black-and-white mech gave a brilliant smile and held out a hand, letting the boy scramble into his palm. The look of absolute delight on the mech's face told Jon all he needed to know – someone had been reunited with a friend they'd thought to be dead.

 _Jazz and Prowl were two of my top officers,_ Prime explained. _And though their personalities are vastly different, they became good friends over time. I'm sure Jazz is relieved to know Prowl has survived… though he won't be above teasing him about his current situation, I'm sure._

' _Heh… looks like most everyone gets a happy ending of some kind today.'_ He smiled a little himself, though he couldn't help but feel wistful.

_Jon… I meant what I said. The thought of going back to my former life and leaving you to live on the streets is unthinkable. You kept me alive, and for that I want to help you somehow._

' _Not a lot you can do, sir. I'm kinda a mess – can't hold a job, military won't even recognize that I'm a veteran…'_

 _The Sector Seven business._ Prime's voice went cold at that. _I intend to have a word with your planet's government regarding that once I return to my chassis. But that's beside the point. Do you have family, Jon? Someone we can contact?_

' _Never married, no kids. Parents are dead. Had a brother, but he disowned me when I told him his wife was a lizard and I've lost contact with him.'_ He gave a deep sigh. _'I know you want to help, sir, but… to be honest, Cybertronians have messed up my life quite a bit. I'd rather just go back to my little spot behind Angry Duck Games and have things go back to normal.'_

_Jon… I know the Repository caused you irreparable harm. But that's why I want to try to set things right somehow. If you wished, you could come to Autobot City with me after my spark is removed from your body. We could figure out how to treat you, and perhaps even find you employment there._

' _Aw, Prime, I dunno…'_

_You have time to think about it. But please consider it. You deserve a higher quality of life than what you've been enduring for the past several years._

He felt himself tearing up, and he reached up to wipe his eyes. _'Thank you, sir.'_

 _You're very…_ Prime's voice trailed off, and Jon felt his presence suddenly flare with wonder. _Is that…_

' _Hmm?'_ Jon glanced back up at the corner where the others had gathered. Several other mechs had joined the crowd now, talking and laughing with those who bore sparks. At least four minibots were clustered around Stanley and the animal carrier in his lap, laughing and teasing, and two tall carformers – one red, one yellow – were cackling madly as they talked to the boy. Off to the side a red-and-blue mech with some kind of scope or cannon on his shoulder was taking notes, muttering quietly, and just beside him…

_Elita… oh Primus…_

' _You know her, sir?'_

 _Know her?_ A flood of emotion swept over him at that moment – of joy and pain, worry and a fierce burning love that brought tears to Jon's eyes in response. _You… you could say that._

Jon couldn't help a grin. _'That kinda thing, is it? Lemmie get her attention.'_ And he hauled himself to his feet and waved.

The slender pink Autobot glanced up, and her optics flared when she caught sight of Jon. She sidestepped the red mech, who seemed oblivious to her leaving, and hurried over, kneeling down to put herself closer to Jon's level.

"Optimus?" Her voice was soft, with a graceful accent Jon couldn't place… and just as full of emotion as Prime's presence in his mind. "Is that… are you in there?"

"He's here, ma'am." Jon lifted his hand. "Ya gotta be touching me to talk to him, though. Go on."

He expected her to simply lower a hand to touch his, so it took him rather by surprise to suddenly find himself cupped in her hands. She stared down at him in wonder, as if she could hardly believe her optics.

"Optimus…"

_Elita…_

"Optimus…" Clear blue fluid built up in the corners of her optics and began to trickle down her faceplates. So Cybertronians could cry…

_Oh, Elita… my Elita…_

"Ya two gonna say more than each other's names?" Jon asked.

Elita burst out laughing. "Oh Primus… there's so much to say." She shifted him to one hand and gently touched the top of his head with a fingertip. "I missed you so much… I felt the bond shift, but I thought perhaps you were in stasis… when Magnus gave me the news…" She looked away, shuttering her optics.

 _I'm here, Elita,_ Prime assured her. _I'm here now, Elita. I'm so sorry I left you… but I'm so happy to see you again._

She smiled through her tears, and lifted Jon to gently nuzzle the side of her face against him. Jon leaned against her, gently patting her cheek. He felt supremely awkward to be caught in the middle of such a heartfelt reunion like this, but he decided that at the moment, it didn't matter.

' _You're a damn lucky bot, Prime,'_ he thought. _'She's worth going to Hell and back for, you know.'_

 _You're right,_ Prime replied softly. _You're absolutely right._

* * *

A hasty and unlikely meeting had been assembled in the medical center of the Salt Lake outpost, consisting of Ultra Magnus, Rodimus Prime, and a number of the spark-bearing humans. Despite the utter ridiculousness of the situation, there was an air of high tension to the meeting, as if this were a war council. Even the dog looked absolutely solemn, sitting at attention by the side of the medical berth and giving the Autobot commanders an expectant stare.

Magnus could feel a CPU ache already brewing. This was not going to be pleasant, he could sense that already.

"You know, Shockwave, I hardly think your people are in any kind of position to be making demands," Rodimus pointed out, a slight smirk on his faceplate. "I mean, you're kinda tiny and squishable right now."

Madame Sapphique's eyes flashed. "Do not play that game, Rodimus Prime. We know you Autobots wouldn't dare take human lives."

"If a few human lives was the price to pay for getting rid of some of the most notorious war criminals in our kind's history, we just might dare," Magnus replied.

"Megatron disagrees," Sapphique – or rather, Sapphique/Shockwave – replied. "He believes none of you are willing to incur Optimus Prime's wrath. If he discovered you destroyed humans for any reason, the consequences would be most dire."

Magnus resisted the urge to sigh. When the ditzy, air-headed human woman had requested a meeting with "whoever's in charge," he had assumed he'd simply be answering a few questions to satisfy her curiosity. He had NOT expected her to gather the other humans who bore Decepticon sparks to participate in said meeting. Nor had he expected to come here to find every last one of them save Megatron's host currently possessed by their resident spark. Whether they had taken their hosts' minds by force or had somehow convinced them to hand over control, he couldn't say.

"Look, Shocks, you're a wanted war criminal," Rodimus pointed out. "And let's face it, even back in your senator days you didn't exactly have a squeaky-clean record. We Autobots don't exactly cut deals with criminals."

"Our demands aren't that outrageous," Angie/Starscream replied. "We simply ask to be put back in our bodies after you remove us from our hosts. It's only fair, seeing as you're doing that for the Autobots anyhow."

"They're Autobots, that's a bit different," Rodimus pointed out. "Just be thankful we're not just going to destroy your sparks when we pull you out. You'll live, just in spark-containment chambers until we can get some war crime trials organized."

"And we're supposed to be thankful for that?" demanded Sharon/Bombshell.

"Even if we agreed to your demands," Magnus pointed out, "there's the issue of your bodies. Namely, that you have no bodies to go back to. Starscream and Shockwave's bodies were completely destroyed, and we've found no trace of Megatron's or of the other Decepticons who died in the battle of Autobot City."

"That wouldn't be a problem if SOMEBODY hadn't chucked us off Astrotrain to save his own sorry aft!" Heather/Skywarp snarled, turning to glare at Starscream's host.

"You would have done the EXACT same thing in my position!" Angie/Starscream snapped.

"Would not!"

"Would too!"

"Would not!"

"You two shut up already!" Rodriga/Thundercracker demanded. "This isn't helping us!"

The two women subsided, though Magnus caught a muttered comment of "I still owe you a punch in the jaw when I get my body back" from Heather/Skywarp.

"That is an issue easily rectified," Sapphique/Shockwave replied. "Seeker bodies are exceptionally easy to come by, as it is a common model. It should be simplicity itself to find appropriate chassis for Starscream, Thundercracker, and Skywarp. Likewise, the Insecticons left behind many clones before they died… and I suspect you have several such clones in your custody, possibly for study."

Magnus frowned. Shockwave was too clever by half. He was right on both counts, of course. That didn't mean they were just going to kowtow to their demands… and that didn't solve the problem of what to do with Shockwave and Megatron.

"Okay, so that takes care of your underlings," Rodimus noted. "What about you and Megatron? We could always stick you in janitor drones or something…"

"Rodimus Prime, can't you handle this situation with a little more maturity?" Magnus groaned.

"Hey, I gotta keep this job interesting somehow," Rodimus replied. "For however long I have it, anyhow…"

Sapphique/Shockwave cocked her/his head to one side, as if listening to a message. "Megatron informs me that he has another chassis stored in Kaon, in the event that he suffered catastrophic damage and needed a new body quickly. It should still be there. And I, too, have a secondary chassis on standby."

"In your tower, I'm assuming?" asked Magnus. "Your tower that was destroyed by Unicron?"

"Wishful thinking on your part, Autobot. It was kept in a bunker in Polyhex. I can provide you with coordinates."

Magnus had hoped for an easy solution to this mess. Time to simply be firm, it sounded like. "Good foresight on your part, Shockwave, but we're still not going to comply with your demands. You have no choice in this matter – your sparks will be removed and placed in containment until you stand trial. You're too dangerous to entrust in fully operational bodies; this is safest for everyone involved."

"Everyone who's an Autobot," Angie/Starscream grumbled. "And here your kind is supposed to be merciful."

"Mercy has gotten us in trouble too many times to count in the past," Magnus replied. "Now we err on the side of caution. And there's no use fighting this – your kind has no choice."

Sapphique/Shockwave's eyes flashed in anger, and the others muttered angrily in response. Even the dog growled, hackles raised, at the news. Only Megatron was unresponsive… though given that his host lay in a coma on the medical berth at the moment, that was to be expected.

Magnus was about to dismiss the meeting when Sapphique/Shockwave spoke up again.

"You're wrong, Ultra Magnus."

Magnus arched an optic ridge. "Just how are we wrong?"

"You're wrong in saying we don't have a choice," he/she replied. "We have one choice open to us… and if you deny our request, we'll very well take it."

"And what choice would that be?"

"We run," he replied simply. "We take our organic bodies and we run. I think I speak for us all that we would rather die than be bereft of a body for the rest of our lives… and if we have to take our hosts with us, then so be it."

Rodimus' optics flared in shock. "You wouldn't dare…"

"Oh, we would dare," Angie/Starscream replied, catching on to the tactic. "You really want that on your conscience, Autobot? That you let innocent humans die when it was in your power to save them? Simply by granting a group of prisoners a simple request? Even if YOU don't care if human lives are lost, I'm sure the rest of the Autobots aren't so casual with human lives. And they would NEVER forgive you for this travesty."

Magnus and Rodimus shared a look. Outmaneuvered by Decepticons… and Decepticons that were virtually unarmed and helpless to boot. They knew the Autobots' weak spots all too well, and were only too happy to exploit them.

 _Sometimes I wish we could be just a little more ruthless,_ Magnus thought darkly. _That we didn't have to focus so much on minimizing civilian casualties along with our other goals. But then, if we didn't, we'd be no better than the Decepticons. Such is the trade-off._

"We're not asking for fully armed bodies," Rodriga/Thundercracker pointed out. "Just to be able to move and speak for ourselves. That can't be too much to ask."

Rodimus blew out a sigh. "Fine. You win. You each get a chassis."

Heather/Skywarp let out a whoop of triumph.

"Your new bodies will have their transformation cogs disabled, and no weaponry or other special abilities," Magnus warned. "We're not stupid – we still want you under control while we transport you to prison."

"Understood," Sapphique/Shockwave replied, inclining her/his head toward Magnus. "And we thank you for reconsidering. For a moment, I was beginning to think you were sparkless."

"Not all of us can be as soft-sparked as Optimus Prime was," Magnus replied. "As great a leader as he was, he still had his flaws."

"As we all do," Sapphique/Shockwave replied cryptically. "That is all we requested. I motion to dismiss this meeting."

"Who's in charge here, you or me?" Rodimus demanded.

Sapphique/Shockwave didn't deign to answer, but her/his expression spoke volumes.

"Dismissed," Rodimus said at last. "Let's get these humans down to the lab. Perceptor says they're just about ready to start. And get Sky Lynx to find and bring us those spare chassis Shockwave was talking about. I have a feeling we're going to regret this deal, but we're kind of stuck with it for now."

Magnus nodded and strode out, barking orders into his comm unit as he went. For once he echoed Rodimus' sentiment. Something seemed fishy about Shockwave's request, and he had a feeling that all this had worked out a little too well in the gunformer's favor.


	18. Chapter 18

Preparations were well underway for the spark-extraction procedure. The human and animal hosts were gathered in the medical center of the Salt Lake City outpost, undergoing quick tests at the hands of human medical staff and being scanned by Perceptor to determine how badly they had been damaged by their resident sparks… and if said damage could be reversed. Everyone moved swiftly but carefully – time was running short, and already Mr. Bowen and Madame Sapphique had suffered seizures during their checkups. No one was sure how much time the hosts and sparks had left, but they weren't going to take chances either.

The medbay was so hectic that no one paid much attention to those hosts who were done with their tests, not even the Decepticon ones… and Starscream intended to take full advantage of their little oversight.

He slipped a little closer to the berth where Megatron's host lay, connected to an IV and various monitors. No one stood guard over the man – evidently the fact that he was in a medically induced coma at the moment made them confident that he didn't NEED guarding, that there was no chance of Megatron taking over his host and wreaking some kind of havoc. And them being stupid Autobots, they didn't take into account that Megatron might guarding not for others' protection, but for his host's.

A smile played across his host's lips as he rested a hand on the berth, just inches from the IV line in the man's arm. He knew little about human medical equipment, so there was no telling if any of these devices connected to this fleshbag was some sort of life support. But surely disconnecting a few of them would speed up his demise. Or perhaps he could take a shortcut – a hand to the throat or a pillow over the face would certainly do the trick, wouldn't it?

' _You're a sick, sick bastard, Starscream.'_

 _Hush, you,_ he snapped. _This does not concern you._

' _You're gonna use my body to commit a homicide! If that doesn't concern me, I don't know what does!'_

_Oh, relax, human. If the police investigate, they'll most likely find you not guilty. Unless they somehow decide you're an accessory, and if they do I don't frankly care._

' _Some thanks I get for keeping you alive, you jerk.'_

Starscream ignored Angie, focusing on keeping his control over her body. Megatron was weak, just ready to be eliminated… and this time there was no chance that he'd return if his spark snuffed out. He'd be a fool not to take this chance, and ensure the Decepticon throne remained firmly his.

His hand moved to the man's throat. How much force would he need to apply…

A hand gripped his wrist, and a new voice sounded in their shared mind.

_I don't THINK so, Starscream._

Starscream glanced up, seething in outrage at being thwarted. "Unhand me, Thundercracker. That is a direct order."

The human woman whom Thundercracker now occupied – Starscream couldn't be bothered to learn her real name – glared at him, and her fingers tightened on his wrist. Another hand closed on his free arm, and he turned to find Skywarp's host gripping his other wrist.

 _Dude, taking out a squishy when they can't even run for their lives?_ Skywarp demanded, disgust dripping from his mental tone. _That's really low, even for you._

"Since when did the two of you care about human fleshbags?" Starscream hissed, wrenching at their grips. "Unhand me this instant! I am leader of the Decepticons, and as such I deserve to be treated with more respect than this!"

 _No,_ Thundercracker replied coldly. _We're through taking orders from you._

 _And you ain't exactly leader of the Decepticons anymore,_ Skywarp pointed out. _So who says we gotta listen to you?_

"I am your trine leader, and as such you take orders from me or suffer the consequences. Release me, and you two can be richly rewarded for your loyalty."

 _Oh please,_ Skywarp groaned. _You tossed us off Astrotrain when we were too damaged to fight back. You honestly expect us to believe you'll do anything nice for us if we help you? More like you'll let us take the heat for the doc's death._

 _Our loyalty is to Megatron,_ Thundercracker added. _And we're not about to let you kill him just to satisfy your egomania._

"Loyalty," Starscream spat. "Seems to me your loyalty is more to the fleshbag than to our esteemed leader. I was there at the meeting. I saw the look of horror on your face, Skywarp, when Shockwave announced his plan. The thought of letting harm come to your host is abhorrent to you, isn't it?"

_So what if it is? She ain't a bad person – slag, I kinda like her. She's fun. Good sense of humor, good taste in movies. And she's got a sparkling, for Primus' sake. I thought we didn't drag kids into this war._

"Cybertronian children!" Starscream retorted. "Human spawn are an entirely different matter!"

 _Really, Starscream?_ Thundercracker demanded. _Are humans really so different from us? I've seen how they live up close. I've paid attention to their culture. They're more similar to us than we ever realized – they have family units, they mourn their dead, they celebrate new life and new bonds between each other. They think and feel just like we do. They're not just highly evolved animals, but sentient beings. And I don't know about anyone else… but my days of recklessly destroying them for the sake of this war are over._

 _I'm with him,_ Skywarp added. _There's gotta be ways to get energy from this planet without hurting the natives. Maybe it's too late to establish peaceful relations, but maybe if we just dug an oil well in some out-of-the-way spot, like Australia or Antarctica…_

"Will you listen to yourselves?" Starscream hissed. "Soft-sparked traitors! Do you honestly think Megatron is going to listen to you? More likely he'll vaporize you for being weak!"

 _We can still try,_ Skywarp replied. _And hey, maybe our leader's learned a thing or two from his host. Ya never know._

Starscream wracked his mind for another option. Bribing, threatening, and mocking hadn't worked… though maybe he could at least goad Thundercracker into releasing him. The blue Seeker was notorious for spouting values he didn't necessarily put into practice, and like a true hypocrite he hated having that fact pointed out. Perhaps he could work that to his advantage…

"You preach kindness toward the humans," he sneered, "and yet you've forcibly taken over your host's body for your own use. Which is it, Thundercracker? You can see humans as tools to be used, or you can cry for justice and mercy toward them. You can't have it both ways."

_Who says I'm taking over her body?_

Starscream blinked in response. "But… surely she wouldn't cooperate with a Decepticon…"

The woman spoke a few words in a language unfamiliar to Starscream. Despite not understanding her speech, however, he couldn't mistake the contempt in her voice. Thundercracker replied in the same language, albeit haltingly, then addressed Starscream again.

 _She says she doesn't like you, and you're a coward._ A mental smirk. _I'm not stupid – when I realized I wasn't getting out of Rodriga's body anytime soon I did my best to learn her language. I'm not proficient in it, but we understand each other well enough to communicate some. And when I saw you heading for Megatron's host, I put two and two together and convinced Rodriga to come investigate._

"Good on you, TC," Skywarp's host said with a smile. "Seems like you've got a decent guy as your friend there, Warp."

 _Aw shucks, thanks Heather,_ Skywarp replied brightly. _You're the greatest. And thanks for helping me nab Screamer. Knew he was up to no good._

"I can't believe you two!" Starscream shrilled, not caring that the three (or rather six) of them were starting to draw stares. "Since when did we start working with humans? Or caring about their blasted little lives?"

 _When we walked in their footsteps for awhile,_ Thundercracker replied. _And learned that they're really not so different from us after all._

Rodriga stepped back, but she kept her grip on Starscream's arm, pulling him away from Megatron's host. Heather held onto on his other arm and led the way to a set of chairs close by.

"You're staying with us until they get you out of Angie's body," Heather told him. "Angie, if you can hear me in there, hold on tight. It won't be much longer."

' _Thanks, Heather,'_ Angie replied. _'And Skywarp, can you at least wait until he's out of my body before you punch him?'_

 _That was the plan,_ Skywarp replied. _No way to get that satisfying clang of knuckles to the jaw in a flesh body, you know…_

Starscream grumbled and retreated to the back of Angie's mind, letting her have control of her body again. Thwarted by his own wingmates… a despicable end to his all-too-brief reign as leader of the Decepticons. But tasting power once only whetted his appetite further, and he was not about to give up on his quest. Maybe Megatron wouldn't die today… but his time would come. And Starscream would be there to reap his just rewards.

* * *

"Do relax, Mr. Hawkins," the red-and-blue scientist – Perceptor, he had introduced himself as – asked. "This procedure should be completely painless."

"I'd feel a lot more comfortable about this if you weren't strapping me to the table for it," Conrad pointed out, looking down at the bands crossing his chest, waist, and legs.

"The restraints are merely a safeguard should you suffer convulsions before or during the procedure," Perceptor assured him. "If you start convulsing they will ensure you do not fall off the operating table and subject yourself to potential injury. Though the probability of such an event is fortunately slim – only about a forty percent chance, I would say."

"Great, that makes me feel loads better," Conrad groaned.

When Perceptor and First Aid had finally announced that the Scourge of Maximo had been tested and found to be functional, Conrad had expected them to call Jon into the medbay first. He did play host to Optimus Prime, after all, and rank had its privileges. It had been a shock for his own name to come up first – apparently they wanted Ratchet to be the first to undergo the procedure, and to be returned to his chassis before the others.

 _Only makes sense, I suppose,_ Ratchet noted. _They'd want another medic on hand to make sure the rest of the transfers go smoothly. I still wish we had more than just a few sample tests to go off of before we tried this on an actual living being._

Conrad tried to quell his anxiety by looking around the repair bay. It wasn't exactly a comforting view. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of some orange-tinted metal, without a scuff or scratch anywhere he could see. Several large platforms – medical berths, Ratchet called them – were spaced throughout the room, some empty, others with large sheet-covered forms on them. Soft beeping from some sort of machinery underlaid all other sounds, and the smell of antiseptic cleaner, familiar to him from the times Mom had come home with that smell still clinging to her scrubs, filled the air.

Even as he watched two mechs, one black and bulky and the other a gleaming blue, lugged some kind of stretcher bearing a third mech into the room. Said third mech was an odd shade of gray he'd never seen in an Autobot before, and judging by how his head lolled on his shoulders, Conrad was going to guess he'd been knocked out somehow. Had there been another fight while they'd been in here? Was this place about to get a lot busier?

 _Oh Primus,_ Ratchet groaned, sounding ill. _Ironhide…_

' _Ironhide? I thought he was still in Chandra. What's he doing out here?'_

_They must be bringing his body in for the transfer. Looks like someone's at least fixed his damages, thank Primus… how they were able to rebuild his cranial unit in so short a time I don't know._

' _I thought he was red, though.'_

_All mechs turn gray upon deactivation._

Conrad watched as the two Autobots hauled the body of their comrade onto another berth, then carefully covered it up with a sheet. _'Geez… so that's what's on all the other berths. I've been laying in a room with a bunch of dead bodies.'_ He felt suddenly cold, and would have rubbed his arms had they not been pinned to his sides.

_Don't tell me you're squeamish._

' _I'm not! It's just… weird… knowing I'm surrounded by corpses. Doesn't this bother you?'_

_I'm a medic. Deactivated chassis in the same room as me doesn't affect me as much as it used to._

' _So it still bothers you to some degree.'_

_Oh, hush._

"Mr. Hawkins?" First Aid asked, cutting off their discussion before it could get too heated. "We're ready to begin if you are."

Conrad took a deep breath. _'You ready for this?'_

_Ready as I'll ever be. And Conrad?_

' _Yeah?'_

_Thank you. For… well, for everything. For keeping me alive, for helping me find the others… you risked your life for me. I'm in your debt for this._

Conrad felt an unexpected lump forming in his throat. _'No prob, Ratchet. I mean… what else could I have done? We were kind of stuck with each other.'_

_True… I still can't help but feel I owe you one._

' _Don't worry about it. Just… keep in touch? You have an e-mail or something?'_

_I can arrange some way for us to keep in contact. For now, though… let's get me out of here and you back to full health._

"Conrad? Can you hear me?"

"Sorry, Ratchet wanted his say." He braced himself, then nodded up at First Aid. "Okay… we're ready."

First Aid nodded back and turned to the next berth, where another sheet-covered form lay – Ratchet's body, he guessed. With a swift motion he whipped the sheet off.

_Ugh._

' _What, you don't look THAT ugly.'_

_Do you know how unsettling it is to look at your own dead body?_

' _Can't say that I do.'_

_Well, it's blasted disturbing, and pray you never have to go through it, all right?_

Conrad just stared at the body next to him. So that was who he had been sharing his brain with. He was a bulky mech, square-chested and stocky, with a smooth helm marked by a V-shaped crest on the brow. His entire body was a dark gray, but Conrad thought he could make out some markings that hinted at his previous alt mode – crosses on his shoulders being the most notable of them, though they were the same dark gray as the rest of his paint and hard to make out.

"Just hold still," Perceptor advised. "There'll be some momentary discomfort."

"This is gonna hurt like hell, isn't it?" He wasn't stupid – he knew what doctors meant when they talked about "discomfort."

"To be honest, we're not sure," First Aid admitted, picking up the spark extractor. "We've never done this before except on turbofoxes, and they can't exactly tell us if they're in pain. Though the one nearly took Perceptor's hand off when he pulled its spark and then replaced it."

"You suck at having a comforting bedside manner, dude," Conrad informed him.

"Just hold still," First Aid repeated, and he lowered the extractor, touching its jagged edge to Conrad's chest.

It hurt. It hurt like nothing he had ever experienced before – it was as if something had just broken every bone in his body at once. He tried to scream, but the pain was so intense that for a moment that seemed like an eternity his entire body just ceased to function. His lungs wouldn't suck in air, his vision whited out, every muscle in his body locked up and refused to relax. Even his heart seemed to freeze, skipping a handful of beats before it managed to pick up its rhythm again.

Somewhere in that agonized haze he could hear Ratchet screaming… then there was a horrible _wrenching_ feeling… then a vague emptiness where his presence had been.

' _RATCHET!'_ He screamed out mentally, but there was only blankness in return. For a terrifying moment he wondered if the medic's spark had been extinguished by the procedure, if Perceptor and First Aid hadn't botched everything…

The pain receded slowly, like the tide going out, and gradually his body remembered to function again. His ears felt oddly stuffed up, as if he were wearing earplugs, so at first all he could hear was his own panting breath and the rapid beating of his own heart. But sound returned gradually, and a clamor of voices managed to make its way through.

"…just lay back down until we can do some tests, sir! We want to be sure everything's functioning-"

"I'm fine, fraggit, get your paws off me!"

 _I know that voice…_ Despite his nerves still burning with residual pain, he couldn't help a grin. Ratchet was all right… and from the sound of things, back in action.

There was a sound of creaking metal as something huge and metallic bent over him. "Conrad, can you hear me? Are you all right?"

He opened his eyes. A blurry mess of white, marked here and there with crimson, filled his vision, and he had to blink a few times before the image came into focus.

Somehow Ratchet looked bigger when he wasn't dead, he thought. Certainly he looked a lot better, healthier even (if that term could be applied to a robot). The gray had faded from his chassis, revealing a white body with red hands, pelvis, and cross-shaped shoulder markings and a red Autobot symbol on the chest. A glass panel, the windshield of his alt mode, covered his chest, but it was tinted enough that Conrad couldn't see any internal components through it. The crest on his brow was jet-black, looking rather comically like a set of angry eyebrows, but the silver face and blue optics wore an expression of concern.

"Hi Ratch," he said weakly, and managed a smile.

Ratchet smiled back. "Hello, Conrad." He reached down and undid the straps. "Nice to properly meet you face to face."

"Likewise." Conrad sat up, wincing a bit.

"Are you all right? Any pain?"

"Sore," Conrad admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But it's going away. And my head feels… kinda empty. I got used to having you in there, I guess."

"We'll be keeping you overnight for observation," Ratchet explained. "And I want to do some scans to make sure there's no residual energy inside you. But I think you'll be all right."

Conrad took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "So that's it then… it's over."

"Not by a long shot," Ratchet replied. "One down, over a dozen more to go. But at least your life can go back to normal."

"Define normal," Conrad shot back.

Ratchet snorted through his vents. "Point." He held a hand out next to the berth. "Let's get you down and get this place prepped for the next patient. Perceptor, go get Jon and tell him he's next. First Aid, I'd suggest general anesthesia or at least a strong painkiller from here on out – let's not put the humans through more pain than we have to while we do this."

"So the others get drugs and I don't?" Conrad grumped, putting more anger into his voice than he actually felt. "Great, make me your guinea pig."

"Oh, stop complaining," Ratchet retorted, though he smirked a little as he scooped Conrad up and set him down on the floor. "Get out of here. We'll talk more once we're done with the others."

Conrad nodded and grabbed the crutches First Aid handed him, then made for the door. He couldn't help but turn around for one last look at Ratchet, though. In a weird way, it was nice to see the cranky Autobot alive and in his actual body, secure in his natural habitat. He looked content, happy to be back where he belonged… and somehow that made Conrad feel like this whole crazy experience had been worth it.

* * *

It had been a long, exhausting day for everyone, Autobot and human, but it was finally drawing to a close. The spark transfers had gone without any major hiccups, and all Cybertronians were finally back in their own bodies or a reasonable facsimile thereof. All the organic hosts had been thoroughly investigated by both human and Autobot doctors, and all scans had come back clean. Those who had been injured during the Battle of Zion Park were on the road to recovery, and would hopefully be back to normal before very long. And the Decepticons, both Soundwave and the Decepticons they had extracted from the human hosts, were secured in the brig, awaiting transport to Cybertron and a long-overdue war crime trial.

Optimus should have felt elated at all this… yet he couldn't shake the feeling that this was merely the calm before the storm.

He walked past the hallway leading to the humans' guest quarters, a slight smile tugging at his faceplate beneath his mask. Jon was in there somewhere… and he had finally convinced the man to accompany him back to Autobot City. There he hoped to finally get him the treatment he needed, and find him a steady job. He deserved a better life than eking out a meager existence on the streets, digging for sustenance in garbage cans and scrounging trash for a living. And it would hopefully make up for all the misery Jon had suffered, however inadvertently, at the hands of the Autobots.

It wasn't Jon nagging at his processor, then… though what it could be he wasn't sure. Perhaps he was just antsy from not having the Matrix. He was so used to the artifact's presence that he had taken it for granted, and not having it in his possession left him feeling hollow, both literally and metaphorically.

But the Matrix was in the hands of another now. It had chosen a new Prime, a new leader, and he doubted Rodimus would want to hand over the reins of leadership now that he had tasted power. Optimus would have to accept that, and be content with the role of a warrior, or perhaps an officer if he was lucky.

 _I never thought I'd actually grow used to being in a position of power,_ he mused. _But as much as I didn't want to be Prime at first, I grew comfortable in the role. Now, though… now I learn to follow instead of lead. I suppose that makes me Orion Pax again, and not truly Optimus…_

He rounded a corner to bump into a scarlet mech, derailing his train of thought. Rodimus backed up a step, shaking his head.

"Watch where you're go- Optimus!" He snapped a salute. "Sir!"

Optimus couldn't help himself – he chuckled. "On the contrary, Prime sir." And he saluted himself, standing at attention. "My apologies. I should have been more aware of my surroundings."

Rodimus blinked, optics rebooting as he processed the former Prime's words. Then he shook his head. "You don't need to apologize… and don't call me sir."

"You're a Prime," Optimus reminded him, "and that position demands respect."

"YOU'RE a Prime," Rodimus countered. "You've done far more to deserve the title than I could ever hope to accomplish. You're Optimus Prime, practically a living legend! I'm just… just Hot Rod with an upgraded chassis. That's all."

So young Rodimus wasn't as secure in his position as he'd thought. Optimus knew that feeling all too well – that feeling of crushing inadequacy upon being handed the Matrix, the dread of knowing the optics of an entire planet were looking at you, comparing you to your predecessor and finding you lacking. It had nearly destroyed him before he had found the courage and confidence to lead in his own right, and even recently there had been moments he had wanted to give up entirely.

But he had managed. And if there was hope for a lowly dock worker who had greatness thrust all too randomly upon him, there was hope for a hotshot young warrior like Hot Rod as well.

"You will come into your own, Rodimus," he assured the young Prime, resting a hand on his shoulder. "You are young, but that does not make you unfit for the task. You can become a great Prime in your own right… and I have faith that you will do so."

"I didn't want this," Rodimus insisted. "I didn't want to be in charge."

"Fate rarely calls upon us at a moment of our choosing. But we do the best we can with what we are given. You will do well. I know it."

Rodimus looked pained, as if Optimus had doomed him with those words. "P-Prime, sir… I'm just not ready. Please… can I give the Matrix back to you? Just for awhile? The Autobots trust you. They'll follow you. They're not so eager to follow a punk like me." He opened his chest and drew out the Matrix. "Maybe someday down the road, I'll be ready for this… but not now."

Optimus knew he should deliver a speech to the young Prime about dodging responsibility right now. But he didn't have the spark to do so. Rodimus was clearly unprepared for this role, and under his bravado and snark he struggled under the weight of his own self-doubt. Under ordinary circumstances he would simply have to learn to deal with his own emotions and do the job set before him… but these were unusual circumstances to say the least. There was another to take the mantle until Hot Rod was ready to become Rodimus Prime for good, one with the experience and confidence to lead well.

And most unusually, they now knew who was next in line to take the Matrix – something they normally didn't know ahead of time. They had a unique opportunity before them – the opportunity to mentor the new Prime and prepare him for his duties before he had the Matrix shoved onto him. Perhaps this truly was for the best.

"I will take it on one condition," Optimus told him.

"Anything!" Rodimus agreed, relief flooding his faceplate.

"You join my crew permanently, and agree to let me teach you. I'll show you what it takes to be a Prime, and to lead and command. This way, when the time comes for you to take the Matrix, you will be better prepared for the responsibility."

Rodimus nodded. "I guess I'll never get away from it for good, will I? But that sounds like a good plan." He held the Matrix out to Optimus. "I accept."

Optimus nodded, and he took the Matrix from Rodimus' – Hot Rod's – hands.

His vision whited out briefly, and the familiar glow of power rushed through his circuits and wiring, making him suck in a sudden intake of air. It was like being reunited with a friend he'd long thought gone, like having a vital part of himself reinstalled. The Matrix pulsed warmly, welcomingly, accepting him as the Prime all over again.

A multi-toned voice spoke… the voices of the Primes who had come before. _Arise, Optimus Prime._

 _I will not fail you,_ he vowed, and rebooted his optics. Hot Rod stood before him, smaller and sleeker now, a grin on his smooth, youthful faceplate.

"Thanks, sir."

"You are welcome, Hot Rod. But don't think this means you get out of all responsibility. The optics of the Autobots will still be on you from here on out. Don't disappoint them."

"I won't." But a mischievous smile crossed Hot Rod's faceplate, and Prime knew he was going to have his hands full keeping this young hotshot in line and out of trouble. What had he gotten himself into?

He was spared having to ruminate on that further by the base alarms going off.

 _Perfect,_ Prime thought with a rather morbid chuckle. _Hot Rod loses responsibility over the Autobots just as a crisis hits._ "Prowl, status report."

 _Breakout in progress,_ Prowl said curtly. _We have troops on the scene trying to restore order, but two Seekers and all the Insecticons have already managed to break free._

"I'm on my way," Prime replied, transforming and tearing off down the hall, Hot Rod close behind. "Try to keep Megatron contained if at all possible."

_Yes sir._

"Remind me again why we gave these guys their bodies back?" Hot Rod grumped as he swerved around Prime and screamed for the brig. "I knew this would just be asking for trouble."

"You and Ultra Magnus made the decision," Prime pointed out, pushing his engine a bit more to catch up to the speedster. "All you can do now is live with the consequences."

"Yeah, but that's the worst part of making a choice," Hot Rod pointed out.

They arrived at a scene of chaos. Every door in the brig stood wide open, and a smoking, sparking panel in a console at the guard's station betrayed the reason for that state of affairs. Plasma fire filled the air like a deadly sideways rain as Autobots opened fire on the escaping prisoners and the Decepticons returned the favor. Prime immediately ducked and rolled to escape a blast from a familiar laser cannon, then pulled his own weapon and made his way to Prowl's side behind a toppled table.

"What happened?" he demanded, squeezing off a shot before ducking for cover again.

"As far as we can figure…" Prowl went quiet as he, too, fired a shot at the silver warlord who was trying to fight his way past the guards at that moment. "We figure that Soundwave had at least two cassettes unaccounted for when he was captured. Said cassettes were able to sneak in and open the cells, then provide the prisoners with weapons to enable a breakout."

Blast it all. Shockwave and Soundwave must have planned this ahead of time. "Megatron! Let's end this! Surrender now and I can guarantee you a fair trial!"

A column of violet energy almost took his head off at the shoulders. "That's your idea of a bargain, Optimus? I refuse! I'll not rest until I'm out of this pathetic excuse for a prison and have returned to my rightful place at the head of the Decepticons!"

A blast struck the table he and Prowl were using as cover, and the two of them went sprawling. Before Prime could right himself he felt a hand grip his throat, and an energy dagger glinted before his optics.

"Stop firing!" Megatron bellowed. "Or your precious Prime dies again!"

The brig went deathly quiet. No one dared to so much as cycle air out of turn, let alone try for a lucky shot at Megatron. The warlord kept the dagger aimed at Prime's throat even as he hauled him to his feet, locking an arm around his chest and using him as a shield as he backed toward the door to the brig.

Prime tensed against the arm confining him, trying to gauge Megatron's strength. There was a chance he could break free before his foe cut his fuel lines, but he would need to distract him somehow. Maybe he could goad him into making a mistake…

"You intend to finish this your way, then?" he asked, forcing his voice to remain level.

A soft chuckle was his answer. "On the contrary, Optimus Prime… you and I will always have unfinished business." His grip tightened about his mortal enemy. "Someday we will fight again, and this time I will end your miserable existence for good… but not today."

And he released Prime so suddenly he staggered. Several Autobots rushed forward to steady Prime and ensure he wasn't hurt, and in the confusion Megatron vanished down the corridor.

"After him!" Prowl shouted. "Ironhide, take a squad and go after him – make sure he doesn't reach the blast doors. Everyone else secure the brig. Prime, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he assured the tactician, rubbing slightly at his neck where the dagger had scratched a bit at the cables. "How many got away?"

"All of them," Prowl replied, a bitter note in his voice. "Megatron, Soundwave, Shockwave, Starscream, all the Seekers and Insecticons, even the cassettes. They knew they would have one chance at this, and they made the most of it." He frowned. "Orders, sir? Do we go after them?"

He shook his head. "No. By now they will be long gone… and we need to focus our resources elsewhere. Cybertron belongs to the Autobots now; we would do well to secure our position there, and ensure Megatron can't retake the planet."

Prowl looked unhappy with that decision, but he didn't argue it. He turned and began barking orders, leaving Prime to his own devices.

 _Unfinished business, he calls it,_ Prime mused as he walked out of the brig. _It seems even death cannot stop our ongoing rivalry._ But in a strange way, he found he looked forward to it. Megatron's presence would ensure that the Autobots didn't grow complacent in their role as guardians of Cybertron... and perhaps with Galvatron still out there, Megatron and Galvatron would be too busy fighting each other to pose a serious threat to Cybertron. Besides, his job as the Prime would be very boring without a rival.


	19. Chapter 19

A loud buzzing sound, like a submarine claxon, roused Conrad from sleep, and he lifted his head from the pillow and looked blearily around. For a moment he was completely disoriented – this looked nothing like his home in Provo, and this wasn't his bed. Gunmetal-gray walls surrounded him, with only a single framed photo of a nighttime cityscape (San Francisco? New York? Las Vegas? He couldn't tell them apart) to brighten up the drabness. Two beds and a plain dresser were the only furniture, and judging by the lump in the blankets on the second bed, it was pretty clear he had a roommate.

A series of thuds stirred him to full awareness, and the memory of where he was and why finally returned. He shook his head and rolled out of his bed, looking over at the second bed in the Salt Lake Autobot Base's human guest quarters. Its occupant was struggling to kick off the blankets, no doubt also awakened by the noise.

"Who's stomping at this hour of the night?" his mom mumbled.

"They're Autobots, they can't help but stomp," he replied. "Still, sounds like they're in a big hurry."

"Some sort of alarm just went off," she added, bending down to grab her shoes. "We'd better not be under attack."

"Maybe there's a breakout in progress?"

"Don't sound so eager for that, Conner. Seriously, that's just what we need right now."

He paused out of habit, waiting for Ratchet to put in his two cents' worth… and kicked himself mentally when silence was his only answer. Ratchet was gone, back in his own body and separate from his mind. And now that he was alone in his head, he actually missed the old codger.

 _This is gonna take some getting used to,_ he thought.

The thudding footsteps grew louder, and the floor shook slightly with each impact as whoever-it-was drew closer. They came to a sudden halt just outside their door, and Conrad tensed, ready to… what? Run for it? Fight back? How was he going to run if they were blocking the door, and what kind of idiot human tried to take on a Cybertronian in a fight and expected to win?

Voices filtered through the door of their quarters – familiar voices, except he'd never heard them with his physical ears before, only his mind.

"Think we lost 'em," Skywarp said, sighing with relief. "Dang twins… still as obnoxious as ever."

"They ain't gonna be too far behind," Thundercracker reminded him. "You remember the way to the exit?"

"Not a clue. I know the way out of the Ark."

"Like that helps us. Fraggit, let's just keep going…"

"You idiots didn't even think to study the layout of this place while coming in?" growled a raspy, high-pitched voice – Starscream. "I work with a bunch of imbeciles! Follow me and-"

Starscream's monologue cut off with a loud CLANG, followed by a screech of pain and outrage.

"What in blazes was THAT for?!"

"I told you I owed you a fist in the kisser!" Skywarp snapped. "That was for tossin' us out of Astrotrain and leaving us to deactivate!"

"You idiot!" Starscream snapped. "I'll have you court-martialed for this – ARGH!" That second cry was accompanied by another clang, this one harder. "Thundercracker!"

"And THAT'S for everything else we've put up with from you," Thundercracker snarled. "We're through taking orders from you."

"How dare you?!" Starscream shrilled. "I am the Supreme Air Commander of the Decepticon forces, and I do NOT have to put up with such treatment!"

"Yeah, you do," Skywarp replied. "Because Megatron wants you in custody the astrosecond we blow this popsicle stand."

"Popsicle stand?" Thundercracker repeated, his voice thick with confusion.

"You can't be serious!" Starscream snapped.

"For once I am," Skywarp retorted. "Orders from the Commander himself. Shouldn't have tried to off him without making sure the job was good and done, I guess."

"I refuse to believe – stop that! Unhand me this instant! I'll have your wings mounted on my wall for this! Release me this instant!" His shrieks and squawks could be heard long after the three Decepticons' footsteps had finally faded.

Conrad waited until Starscream's screechy Cobra Commander voice had faded out entirely before finally relaxing. "That was close."

"Shouldn't we be calling someone?" his mom asked. "Let them know there's been a breakout?"

"I think they already know, since the alarm went off," Conrad replied. "Still, don't know if we should go out or not. Maybe they'll give an all-clear once they've got things under control."

"I sure hope so."

More footsteps from outside… though these were far lighter, made by a smaller and softer pair of feet. Then someone rapped quickly at the door. Conrad wasn't taking chances – he opened the door just a crack, ready to slam it again if it turned out to be a ruse.

"Angie?"

"'Rad!" Angie yanked the door further open. "Your mom's a nurse, right?"

"Is someone hurt?" His mom sat down on the bed and began yanking on her shoes, snapping into business mode. "Which room?"

"Mine and Theresa's. She's just gone into labor!"

Conrad groaned. Now of all times? He knew the Autobots had wanted to keep a close optic on her, worried that prolonged exposure to rarified energon might have affected the baby somehow. Had the spark-extraction caused her to go into labor early? Or maybe being spooked by the Decepticon breakout had triggered contractions. Either way, it was still too early, wasn't it?

"Calm down, Conner," his mom ordered, clamping a hand on his shoulder. "Don't freak out on us."

"I'm not freaking out!" he protested, his voice going up an octave.

"You sure look like you are. Relax. She's only about two weeks early, the baby's going to be fine." She looked down at herself, wearing flannel pajamas and her nursing shoes, and grimaced. "I look like hell, but I doubt anyone's going to care. Lead the way, Angie. Conner, stay here."

"I'm coming," he insisted. "Maybe I can be helpful, even if it's just keeping the crowds back."

She looked at him skeptically. "Only if you promise to calm down and not freak out at the sight of blood."

He winced internally, but nodded. "I'll be cool, I promise."

She gave him another long look, but nodded and hurried out. Angie dashed ahead to show the way, and Conrad thumped his way after as fast as his crutches would allow. Dimly he could hear a mech's voice – Red Alert's, if he remembered right – shouting for the humans to get back to their quarters, but none of them paid him any heed.

Angie and Theresa's shared room was unexpectedly crowded when they got there. His stepmom was lying back on the bed, which someone had pulled away from the wall to allow someone to stand on either side, and she was so focused on inhaling and exhaling deeply that he wasn't sure she realized she had so much company. Heather sat beside her, holding her hand and doing her best to be encouraging, while Sharon and Madam Sapphique hung back as if waiting to step in if they needed. Chandra stood off to one side, hyperventilating so badly she nearly shrieked with every intake of breath, and Rodriga was doing her best to calm her down. And on the side of the bed opposite Heather…

"Dad?"

The elder Hawkins looked up. "Conrad!"

"What are you doing here? Theresa said you couldn't get the time off work!"

"I managed to work something out with the hospital director. And it looks like I got here just in time too – ow! Tess, ease up on the grip!"

"You're the one who put me in this position!" Theresa snapped. "If I have to be in pain, so do you!"

Despite the tension in the room, Conrad's mom cracked up laughing. "I like this girl more every minute. Conner, run down to the medical center and get a doctor or whatever their equivalent is here. I'll stay here in case the baby comes before they get here."

"Got it." Conrad nodded and glanced up at Theresa. "Hang in there… everything's gonna be okay."

Theresa nodded, then grimaced as another contraction gripped her. "Hurry!"

Conrad hurried from the room, cursing his bum ankle and the blasted crutches the whole way. Part of him cursed the fact that this had to happen in the Autobot base of all places – the halls were so huge that it took forever to get from one place to another, and by the time he got a medic and got back the baby could be born already. Another part of him wondered just why a race so advanced as the Autobots wouldn't have some sort of communications system, or even a phone, in the guest rooms. This would be so much easier if they could just call the medical center and let them know there was an emergency in progress! Did they just forget that squishy humans didn't have internal radios?

_Geez, I'm thinking of myself as a squishy human… I REALLY had a robot in my head for too long._

He thumped into the medbay what felt like hours later… and yelped and scrambled back as a large foot came down just six feet away. "Watch out!"

"Whoa, sorry!" the foot's owner yelped in reply. "Didn't even see you there! We gotta get some kinda transponders for our guests so we know if they're underfoot…"

He recognized that voice almost immediately, and sighed in relief. At least the Autobot who'd almost flattened him was someone who knew the situation already and could help. "Wheeljack, is there a doctor available? A human one?"

Wheeljack looked down, his headfins flickering a deep blue. "Sorry, kid, the doctors we had here to look after Mr. Donaldson went home. We usually don't keep human doctors on hand – if humans get hurt here we generally just transport 'em straight to the hospital. What's goin' on, someone hurt?"

"It's Theresa… she's having her baby!"

His headfins blinked again, this time bright yellow, and his optics lit up with excitement. "It's happenin'! A little late for me to experience, but ah well… I gotta be there for this!"

"You most certainly will NOT be there for this!" another familiar voice thundered, and Ratchet stormed up at that moment, scowling at the white carformer. "Leave this poor woman alone! She's not your test subject to gawk at!"

"Oh, come on!" Wheeljack whined, giving Ratchet a petulant look.

"No, Wheeljack! Sit and stay!" He glared until the other mech slumped into a chair, looking dejected, then turned back to Conrad. "I'll take her to the hospital. You coming with or staying here?"

"I'll come. It's my little sister being born, after all." A slightly wicked thought occurred to him, and he grinned. "And I know you won't like it, but I think Theresa would like Wheeljack to be there. They're friends, right?"

Wheeljack had been staring at the floor, an obvious pout visible even through his face mask, but upon hearing Conrad's words he brightened. "Really?"

Ratchet groaned, and though Conrad knew it was impossible he could have sworn the mech was rolling his optics. "Fine! He'll be my security escort. But he's staying outside the hospital. No trying to force his way in unless the family gives the okay. If the hospital even has room for you."

Wheeljack whooped and sprang to his feet, then began to split apart. Conrad watched in fascination as the mech's limbs and body components rearranged themselves, shifting and flipping about, until he stood on four tires instead of two feet. A sleek, low-slung sports car had taken his place, white with red and black details and a weird wraparound windshield he'd never seen in a car before.

"Whoa…" Conrad murmured. "That's awesome."

"You can gawk later," Ratchet said testily, and transformed himself, far more quickly than Wheeljack's own shift. A Nissan-model ambulance rocked on its tires before him, its driver side door popping open. "Get in! You'll ride shotgun."

Conrad scrambled inside. "You know which room's Theresa's right?"

"I can take you there," Wheeljack assured him, swerving around Ratchet. "Let's go!"

Ratchet tore off down the hall, sirens blasting and lights flashing. Conrad gripped the wheel, more to balance himself than to actually steer. He had to restrain himself from whooping aloud, which probably would have annoyed Ratchet to no end. Hey, how many times did one get to ride shotgun in an Autobot in their lives? True, this was his second time in as many days, but was he ever going to get this chance again?

* * *

No one paid the ambulance and Lancia parked outside the hospital a great deal of attention, despite the Autobot decals emblazoned on both vehicles. Salt Lake City didn't receive Autobot visitors very often despite having a base there – there simply wasn't much in or around the city to interest the Decepticons, and establishing a base there was simply a formality, seeing as most major cities had one. All the same, however, most people had better things to do than to scan passing vehicles for Autobot sigils, and the few who recognized these two vehicles for what they were didn't stop to ask questions or gawk. Evidently passerby had more important things on their mind.

Ratchet actually welcomed being ignored for the moment. It gave him and Wheeljack some semblance of privacy.

He hadn't been surprised at all when the doctors had turned Wheeljack away, much to both the engineer's and Theresa's disappointment. The interior of the hospital was just too small to accommodate an Autobot, and they had a strict policy that only family members were allowed in the delivery room. The two of them would have to wait outside until one of the humans came out with news about the birth.

"Quit your pouting, Wheeljack."

"I'm not pouting," the Lancia replied unconvincingly. "I'm just thinking."

"For the last time, she's not your science experiment. She's not going to appreciate you staring at her while she has the baby. And trust me, you don't want to actually see it. It's a disgusting process."

"Humans do a lot of disgusting processes," Wheeljack pointed out. "I just spent a few weeks inside one, remember? So did you. It would have been fascinating! Besides, she's a friend. She could have used some extra support."

So it wasn't just scientific curiosity after all. That softened Ratchet's irritation some. "The hospital still has rules, though, and we'd do well to respect them. And it's not like you're banned from ever seeing her again. I'm sure you'll get a good look at the baby soon."

"Yeah," he sighed. "And maybe someone'll record the birth? I can hope. Ain't the same as witnessing it firsthand, but it's something."

Ratchet groaned. "Only you would actually want to watch an organic birth."

"Hey, a mech can be curious."

For a few minutes the two mechs sat in silence, watching as cars pulled in and out of the hospital parking lot. An ambulance pulled up to the ER entrance, lights flashing, and there was a brief burst of activity as a patient was unloaded and bustled inside. In the distance the sky took on a magenta tinge, staining the deep blue of night and tinting everything with faint shades of pink that brightened gradually with every passing moment. The hospital remained busy as ever – sickness and accidents still happened no matter the time of day – but the city around it gradually wakened to life, cars venturing out onto the roads and lights flicking on in surrounding businesses.

It was a little odd seeing all this with his optics instead of through another's eyes. And it felt strange being in his own chassis after his sojourn in an organic body. Funny… he hadn't thought he could grow used to wearing flesh and blood, or sharing minds with another being. But somehow it had happened, and he had even grown fond of his host, as infuriating as the human could be at times. It certainly gave him an appreciation for just how small and frail the natives of this planet could be… and how resourceful and resilient at the same time.

"You get tackle-glomped by the Dinobots yet?" asked Wheeljack, breaking the silence.

"The moment I left the repair bay," Ratchet replied, chuckling ruefully. "You have a sobbing Bluestreak hanging from your arm yet?"

"Aw, cut the kid a little slack," Wheeljack advised. "You know Blue takes it hard whenever we lose someone. Had to be rough for him having so many of his comrades offed in a single shot. He was just happy we were back."

Ratchet couldn't argue that. Poor Bluestreak had broken down crying the moment he'd laid optics on the medic, and had immediately latched onto his arm and refused to let go. Apparently Ratchet wasn't the only one, however – the gunner had treated every newly "resurrected" Autobot in the same manner. Some had done their best to console him while others had grumbled at the treatment, but no one could exactly fault him for being happy to see his friends again.

"Then there's Chromia," Wheeljack went on. "Seriously, thought it was going to take a prybar to get her and Ironhide to split up. And that little kid that Prowl shared bodies with – was he actually going to throw up at seeing them kiss?"

"It was an act. Kids that young tend to see anything romantic as disgusting." At least Ironhide's former host hadn't been disgusted by the display of affection. On the contrary, she had given off a noise that could only be described as a "squee," and declared the scene to be "totally worth all the crap you put me through, Iron Man!"

"You know, I wouldn't mind us keeping in touch with our hosts after all this," Wheeljack noted. "Or at least I wouldn't. Theresa was a sweetspark. Sweetheart. Whatever they call themselves… and she was a lot of fun to talk to."

"It's probably going to be an individual thing, whether we keep talking to our hosts or not," Ratchet replied. "I don't think it's healthy for any of the humans who carried Decepticon sparks to stay in contact, for example. But if they get along, then I don't see any reason why not."

A figure made its way out of the main hospital doors at that moment, crutches clicking on the sidewalk. Ratchet flicked his headlights slightly to alert Conrad where he was, and the young man nodded and made his way over.

"Well?" he asked.

"It's a girl!" Conrad replied breathlessly.

"We knew that," Wheeljack huffed. "Is she healthy? The energon didn't hurt her, did it?"

"Besides the fact that she was so impatient to get out that she was born ten minutes after we got here, everything went perfectly," Conrad assured him. "She's perfectly healthy – seven pounds, ten ounces. She's got a lot of hair already, and she's got my dad's eyes." He grinned at Wheeljack. "Her name's Jacqueline Rose Hawkins. Jackie for short."

Wheeljack's vocalizer sputtered, the news leaving him momentarily speechless. "Theresa named her after… aw, shucks…"

Ratchet chuckled. "I'd say you've earned yourself a pretty high honor, Wheeljack. The only way it could have been made more appropriate is if they'd figured out a way to work 'wheel' in there as well."

Conrad snorted. "That wouldn't go over big. The kid would grow up teased her whole life. And if she had to be named after an Autobot, I guess Wheeljack or some version of Jack is a lot better than Grimlock. Or Ratchet."

"Har har," Ratchet snapped. "Different culture, different naming conventions, kid."

Conrad laughed. "If you guys stick around a few days, you'll get to see her once she's released from the hospital. She's a cute little thing."

Part of Ratchet did want to stay, if only to look Jacqueline over for himself and reassure himself that she had truly taken no harm from the effects of her namesake's spark. But his sense of duty won out. "I'm afraid not, Conrad. Now that we're restored to our bodies, we have to go back to Autobot City."

Conrad frowned. "Already?"

"Already. There's a lot of work still to do, and some of us will probably be returning to Cybertron to restore our home once and for all. And there's two Decepticon leaders to take into account now… and even if they spend more of their time fighting each other than the Autobots, the war isn't over yet. Not by a long shot."

He nodded. "I never thought I'd say this, but… I'm gonna miss you, Ratch. It was nice to get to know you."

"Likewise, Conrad. And I'll always be grateful to you. Even if the situation was involuntary for both of us, I'm glad you kept me alive."

"Yeah… too bad you never got to hear the band suck. I mean, perform. Maybe if you ever get a day off you can drop by for a rehearsal or something."

"Or perhaps I can kidnap the entire staff of your store and bring them to Autobot City for a concert. I don't imagine that would go over well with your boss, though."

"Maybe we could get away with it so long as we promoted his store along the way."

Ratchet laughed softly. "Good luck to you, Conrad, in everything you do."

"Yeah… you two. Take care of yourself. And try not to get blasted again, all right? I'd hate to think all my hard work was for nothing."

"Oh hush." He flared his headlights again in irritation. "And you take care of yourself too. Stay away from Decepticons. You got off lucky in your run-in with Soundwave; I doubt you'll be as lucky a second time."

"If you can call this lucky." He looked down at his ankle. "Sure wish we could just get things like this welded or replaced instead of having to wear a cast."

"Stop your griping, you'll live." He backed a bit out of his parking spot. "Tell your mother goodbye for me. And Angie and Gandalf and the others as well."

"Not going to stick around and tell them yourself?"

"I would love to, but we're cutting it a little close as it is. Wheeljack, coming?"

"I'll meet you on the way," Wheeljack replied. "Not all of us are bad at goodbyes, you know, and I'd like to say a proper one to Theresa before I go."

"Fine, but it's your neck on Prowl's chopping block."

"Geez, if I'd known Prowl scares you, Ratchet, I could have used that against you at some point," Conrad laughed.

"Oh hush, you." He tried to keep his voice gruff, just wanting this over with. He didn't get emotional in front of anyone, and he really didn't want to start the habit now. "Goodbye, Conrad. Until all are one."

"See ya 'round, Ratchet."

As he drove off he chanced a glance through his rear-view optical sensors. Conrad still stood on the sidewalk, one arm raised in farewell, and even as he watched Angie hurried out to stand beside him, waving enthusiastically. He smiled to himself as he pulled out onto the main road and headed for the route that would take him back to the Autobot base. They were good kids, he decided, and they had a bright future ahead of them. And though his duties among the Autobots would keep him busy, he would certainly take the time to try to keep in contact.

That, and there was perhaps a final favor he could do for the boy… something to thank him for everything he'd done.

* * *

"Hawkins, where the hell is that register tape?!"

Conrad sighed and ducked into the store room. "I'm getting it, Mr. Jakobson! Going as fast as I can here!"

"Step it up a little! Dammit, I tell you and tell you guys to keep a spare roll up here!"

 _At least some things never change_ , Conrad thought as he grabbed a few rolls of register tape and made his way back to the front counter. Despite everything that had happened over the past few weeks, Mr. Jakobson acted as if nothing had changed. Never mind that he had a couple of sudden semi-celebrities in his employ now; to him they were still his game-store grunts. He'd even chased out a camera crew who had come in to interview Conrad and Angie… and Howard had finished the job when they had tried to come back half an hour later.

"Here, sir." He set the rolls on the counter. "Can I take my break a few minutes early? My ankle's killing me."

Mr. Jakobson nodded. "Just watch the clock. And if it's killing you bad enough, go home early. You're no good to me hobbling around on a bad leg."

He nodded and adjusted his crutches under his arms. Before he could get more than a few steps, however, someone came bolting into the store, swearing as the duck nipped at his ankles.

"Welcome to Angry Duck Games," Zach piped up. "Can we help you sir?"

"You can shoot that psychotic animal," the man – not a customer, but a FedEx employee – complained, brushing off the legs of his pants. "Every time I come by this strip mall it tries to take off a leg. Is there a Conrad Hawkins here?"

"That's me." Conrad turned around and held out his hand. "I got a package?"

The FedEx guy nodded and extended a clipboard. "Sign here. You're that kid from the news, aren't you? The one with the robot ghost stuck in his head."

Conrad sighed a little as he scrawled out his signature. Of course the guy had to remind him. The past few days had been oddly lonely – he hadn't realized just how used he'd gotten to Ratchet's company. He still found himself pausing before speaking, waiting for the Autobot to give his input on a situation, and he missed the mech's snark and no-nonsense manner. Being alone in his head was going to take a lot of getting used to.

He wondered if any of the others who had played host to Cybertronians missed their "houseguests" at all. Angie certainly didn't – she expressed nothing but relief to have Starscream out of her head. Theresa was still in the hospital, so he couldn't ask her, and of course Howard and Gandalf were unable to give their input, though at least Gandalf had quit chewing on random things. And he hadn't been able to talk to any other former hosts and get their view on things either. Which sucked – he would have liked to know if he was alone in his feelings.

"Yeah, I am," he said at last, handing the clipboard back.

"Sweet." He handed over a flat package. "Must have been pretty awesome. Did he think in binary or something?"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Aw, c'mon!"

"Get out," Mr. Jakobson snapped. "No harassing my employees – that's my job."

"Killjoys." The FedEx guy walked out… then bolted for his truck as Howard took off after him, sounding his displeasure at the intruder.

"Good duckie," Conrad said with a smile. "Thanks, Mr. Jakobson."

"Go take your break," the owner replied brusquely. "Take an aspirin too. Don't want you griping about your leg on the job."

"You do care, you just don't want to admit it," Zack laughed, poking his head out from the PlayStation section of the store.

"Back to work, Bowen, or I'll show you just how much I care when you don't do your job!"

Conrad chuckled a bit and headed for the stock room, which doubled as a designated break area for the store. He pulled a chair out from the card table that served as their dining area and sat down, looking the package over. It was more like a glorified envelope, actually, a cardboard sleeve for mailing things like pictures or documents. Certified mail, maybe?

"What's that?"

He turned in his seat. "Hey, Angie. You're in early."

She bent down and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "Just need to talk to Mr. Jakobson about something before work."

"You're not quitting, are you?"

"Heck no. Just want to be sure my absences aren't going to get me in trouble. I don't think he's going to take 'hunting for the Repository' as an excuse for unexpected time off."

"You never know." He picked up a box cutter from a nearby shelf and began to open the package. "How you holding up?"

"Not bad. Still have the occasional headache, but not as much." She leaned back against the shelf. "Have you seen Jon? He's not in his usual spot."

Conrad wondered how best to break the news to her, then decided being direct was best. "Jon's not coming back."

She went pale, one hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Did he…"

"He's not dead," he assured her quickly. "He went with the Autobots to Autobot City. I guess Prime promised him a job there."

She relaxed instantly. "Oh phew… then it's something good. That's wonderful, it really is... but is it bad to say I'm going to miss him?"

He shook his head. He knew he was going to miss Crazy Jon's presence near the store too – his kindly nature despite his rough life, and his amusing rants about lizards and government conspiracies. But from the sound of things, going with Optimus Prime meant that he'd get the help and treatment he desperately needed, and he'd be well on his way to getting his life back on track. He'd miss the guy, but at the same time he was happy for him.

"All right, brace yourself," Conrad announced, pulling several papers out of the package.

"You still haven't told me what that is."

"I have no idea." He checked the label. "I don't recognize the address."

Angie peered over his shoulder. "It's not a legal document, is it? You're not being sued…"

"Doesn't look like legal-ese." He scanned the first page… then read it again, perusing every word. A sudden shock bloomed in his stomach and seemed to spread through his entire body. No way… this had to be a joke. This couldn't be…

"Oh my god," Angie breathed. "You didn't!"

"Didn't what?"

"You had this planned, you dork!" She laughed and punched his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell us? This is awesome!"

"I didn't plan it! Ow!"

"Someone had to, then. You don't just get a letter out of the blue one day saying your band's opening for Weird Al Yankovic's concert! Did you send him an audition tape or something?"

"I swear I didn't!" But all the same, he wasn't going to complain about this either. Maybe call the number on the contract here and make sure it wasn't a hoax, but certainly not complain. "Once Fielding gets here, we need to show this to him and Zack. This is… wow. This could be the big break Dragonglass needs!"

Angie danced an excited little jig in place. "This is so awesome!"

Conrad laughed and flipped to the last page in the package – one with a letterhead bearing the name "Autobot Ratchet, CMO" and the familiar logo of a scowling robotic face. Neatly typed beneath said letterhead was a simple message:

_Conrad,_

_One of my fellow Autobots, Jazz, has contacts with several of your world's musicians and bands, and at my request he pulled a few strings and arranged for one of them to select Dragonglass as their opening act for their Western US leg of their next concert tour. Call it a small thank-you for all you've done._

_I suggest you four start rehearsing with earnest, and learn more than two songs. You never know if you'll end up with a "larger" audience than you expect, if you catch my meaning._

_Ratchet_

Conrad gave a giddy little laugh and caught Angie's hand as she danced past, giving her a celebratory hug. Life after being semi-possessed by a cranky Autobot medic was certainly looking up.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics in this chapter are from "'Til All Are One" by Stan Bush, and are not mine.

"Oh, for Christ's sake!" Zack snapped, thumping the steering wheel with his fist and honking fruitlessly at the car in front of him. "Sorry, Fielding."

"You can really stop apologizing every time you swear," Fielding replied.

"I can apologize any time I damn well want," Zack retorted. "Sorry."

Fielding sighed but let it go.

"Of course this has to happen on the biggest night of our lives," Angie groaned. "We're already running late, and now this!" She waved out the windshield at the snarl of traffic blocking the freeway. "We're never going to get there in time to set up."

Conrad blew out a sigh and leaned back in his seat, drumming impatiently with his fingers on his guitar case. Of all the nights for a car wreck to tie up the freeway! Their set was scheduled to start in an hour, and they still had to set up and tune their instruments. And maybe Dragonglass wasn't the star attraction of the night, but still, this was there big shot at making a good impression and hopefully getting some kind of record gig, and they were about to blow it!

Zack stuck his head out the driver's side window of his truck, surveying the situation. "Geez, nobody's even really hurt. The one driver's yelling at the cops and the other's on his cell phone. Can't they just pull everything over to the side and let us through?"

"I'm sure there's protocol they have to go through," Conrad pointed out. "Filling out reports and all that. Plus, for all we know, it's not safe to move the cars yet."

"How can you be so calm about this?" asked Fielding.

"Because if I don't say something reasonable to keep myself calm I'm going to go homicidally crazy and start wringing necks," Conrad replied with a perfectly straight face.

Despite her anxiety, Angie smirked a little. "Ratchet really rubbed off on you, 'Rad."

"Hey, shut up. At least Starscream didn't rub off on you, huh?"

"Thank God."

A police officer stepped away from the scene of the crash and walked toward their truck. Conrad wondered if he wanted some kind of witness report, or if Zack's truck registration was out of date – the latter wouldn't have surprised him, even if it seemed kind of silly for the officer in question to be worrying about it right now. But then recognition hit him, and he smiled as the officer stepped up to the window of the truck.

"Hey, Officer Lindsenmann," he greeted with a wave.

"Just Jason," the cop replied, leaning his arm against the truck. "How are you kids doing? Didn't expect to run into you again."

"Not too bad," said Angie. "How's life after Windcharger?"

"Believe it or not, I'm kind of missing him," Jason admitted. "He had a sharper eye than I did, and I got to relying on him to remember things like license plate numbers. He e-mails from time to time, but it's not the same." He looked wistful for a moment, then shook his head. "Anyhow… I thought I recognized your truck, so I came to tell you that it looks like we're gonna have a delay here. Twenty minutes to half an hour, from the look of things."

"Shit!" Zack growled. "Sorry sir, sorry Fielding."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Fielding grumbled.

"You guys in a hurry?" Jason asked.

"We're performing at the Weird Al concert in an hour," Angie replied. "We need to be at the Red Butte Amphitheater by seven or we're screwed!"

"Really wish I could help," Jason told her. "But the drivers here are being kind of obstinate, so they're not making this any easier…" His voice trailed off, and he peered past the truck. "Funny… we didn't call for an ambulance."

That statement electrified something in Conrad, and he twisted around in his seat. Could it be? There was an ambulance practically crawling through the knot of cars, lights flashing and sirens tearing through the air, but was it the ambulance he knew? It was an odd make of one – more a glorified van than a true ambulance, and there was a strange insignia on its side…

"It's Ratchet!" he shouted, grinning widely.

Zack whooped and stuck his arm out the window, almost hitting Jason in his haste. He waved enthusiastically to flag the Autobot down, and Ratchet responded with a flash of his headlights and silenced his sirens, though his lights continued to flicker.

"You just keep getting yourself into jams, don't you, Conrad?"

"Har, har," Conrad replied, popping open the door. "What are you doing here?"

"I figured I'd get to the concert early and grab a seat. Show my support for your band. Looks like you're a little held-up, though."

"Ya think?" asked Zack. "Two idiots on their cell phones plowed into each other and clogged up the freeway. We're gonna miss our own concert!"

"Not if I can help it. Ratchet popped open his doors. "Grab your equipment and load up. Hoist is on his way; he'll haul your truck to the venue once this mess gets cleared up."

Conrad felt weak with relief. "Thanks, Ratchet! You're a lifesaver."

"Pays to have friends in high places, huh?" Angie said with a grin.

"Um…" Jason raised his hand. "Ratchet, sir, there's still the accident to clear up…"

"Maybe it's blocking the road, but the median's still free," Ratchet pointed out.

"It's illegal for motor vehicles to drive on the median…" began Jason.

The medic snorted. "I'm an Autobot medic. If I deem it an emergency I can forego your kind's traffic laws as I see fit. And at the moment, this is a situation where your legal system can stick its traffic laws up its tailpipe."

Jason opened his mouth to protest, then gave up with a shrug. "Just… don't get caught. And don't wreck, not with passengers."

"I never wreck," Ratchet assured him.

It took less than a minute to get their instruments and gear loaded into Ratchet's interior, and Conrad leaped into the driver's seat while Zack nabbed the passenger-side seat. Angie and Fielding settled as best they could on benches in the back while Ratchet worked his way out of the knot of traffic. Once he hit the median, he tore off, sirens wailing and leaving a trail of ripped-up turf in his wake.

"I owe you for this, Ratchet," Conrad told him, patting his dashboard.

"You don't owe me a thing," the Autobot assured him. "Just don't make this a habit. I won't be around to pull your aft out of every crisis, got it?"

"Got it. You know the way to the Red Butte Garden?"

"You think I'd go to a concert without knowing where the venue is? I'm not Fireflight; I think I can find my way."

Conrad laughed. "Nice to know I can still get you riled up."

"Oh, hush."

* * *

Ratchet had thought he would be the only Autobot in attendance tonight… but he was proven wrong the moment Dragonglass finished unloading their equipment from his cabin and hurried off to get set up for their set.

"So this is why you requested leave for this evening."

Ratchet snorted and transformed, eliciting scattered cheering from the crowd queuing up to get into the venue. "What, a mech can't take a personal day?"

"I never said that," Prowl replied. "I'm simply making a note." He moved to walk alongside the medic as Ratchet made his way toward the amphitheater. "I wasn't aware you enjoyed parody music."

"Weird Al's not my thing," Ratchet replied. "I'm just here for the opening act."

"Dragonglass." He nodded. "I suppose that makes two of us."

Ratchet raised an optic ridge. "Didn't know you liked Earth music."

"Not especially," Prowl admitted. "But your host saved all our lives. I… felt I owed it to him, to support him in whatever fashion I could. Even if it was simply attending his concert." He nodded in the direction of the amphitheater. "Also, Tanner's older brother is a member of Dragonglass, and the boy is here tonight to show his support. Perhaps I can pay him a visit after the show."

At that, the medic had to smile. Prowl was softening up a little, even if he wouldn't ever admit it. Time spent in Tanner's body had been good for him.

It had been nearly a year since the Battle of Autobot City. Strange, how one event could change the course of the war so drastically. Not that the war was over – not by a long shot, what with the Autobots having to protect Cybertron from two separate Decepticon armies. But the fragmenting of the Decepticon forces had meant that they were far busier fighting each other than actively making life miserable for the Autobots, and it gave Optimus Prime a much-needed opportunity to organize efforts to restore their homeworld. Cybertron was slowly but surely healing from the terrible damage it had undergone over the course of the war, and for the first time in eons there was an end in sight.

Speaking of Optimus Prime… a familiar red truck pulled into the parking lot, eliciting a roar of applause from the crowd. Prime opened his doors long enough to let a man climb out, then transformed and made his way toward the amphitheater. Other Autobots were pulling in close behind their leader – Ironhide, Brawn, Wheeljack, Windcharger, and Huffer. Evidently Prowl and Ratchet weren't the only Autobots here to show their support for Conrad and his friends.

"Fancy seeing you here," Ratchet noted, nodding respectfully toward Prime.

"Please don't tell me you left Jazz in charge while you're gone," Prowl groaned.

Prime chuckled softly. "Ultra Magnus and Hot Rod are looking after things for the evening. I saw no harm in taking an evening to enjoy a concert."

"I don't even want to be here," Huffer grumbled. "Earth music is too loud and just sounds messy, and you know how bad it's gonna smell in there when it's packed with humans?"

"Oh, shut up and don't ruin it for the rest of us!" Windcharger snapped. "No one forced you to come."

Ratchet tuned out their bickering and turned his attention to Prime's passenger. "Hello, Jon."

"Hi Ratchet." Jon grinned up at him, and Ratchet couldn't help but visualize the man as he'd first seen him months ago and marvel at the difference. He walked without slouching now, and his hair and beard were neatly trimmed. He wore jeans and a T-shirt, both slightly worn but not nearly as ragged. Most striking of all was his expression – no longer weary and slightly manic, but calm and content, even happy.

"Nice to see Conrad making the big time, isn't it?"

"It certainly is. Does he know you're here at all?"

He shook his head. "Figured I'd surprise him. Ain't seen him in awhile, I hope he still remembers me."

"Who could forget you, Jon?" asked Prime with a soft laugh. "Go on and get in line. We'll meet up outside after the concert for the trip home."

"Gotcha. Man, haven't been to a concert since the KISS tour, this'll be great…" He hurried off.

Ratchet chuckled. "Conrad's not even going to recognize Jon, is he?"

"He's come a long way in a short time," Prime noted, beaming proudly. "He saved my life. I owed it to him to ensure his quality of life improved somehow."

Ratchet nodded in agreement. He had worked at Autobot City for these past several months, and in that time he had watched Crazy Jon recover and improve. Gone was the unkempt homeless veteran he had first met behind the game store – Jon now worked at Autobot City as a custodian, and was attending night school to become a mechanic. He was still undergoing treatment for his mental issues, treatment that would probably continue for the rest of his life, but he was well on his way to a stable and productive life.

Not all the humans who had played host to a spark had changed so dramatically, though. Ratchet had kept tabs on as many of them as he could, and for the most part their lives had mostly gone back to normal after having their resident sparks removed. That was a good thing as far as he was concerned.

A few noteworthy cases had cropped up among the former hosts, however. Two of them, Heather and Rodriga, were being kept under especially close watch, as the Decepticons who had inhabited their bodies insisted on keeping in contact and even paying visits. Both women insisted that Thundercracker and Skywarp meant them no harm, that the mechs had become friends despite the unusual circumstances, and they had no intention of cutting off contact. Heather even called Skywarp a surrogate father or uncle to her child, and threatened legal action should the Autobots try to come between Skywarp and Bailey at all.

Technically neither the humans nor the Decepticons were breaking any laws by staying in contact, Ratchet supposed, so there was little they could do to stop them. All the same, they were keeping tabs on the situation, just to be safe.

Dr. Donaldson was still recovering from the injuries he'd suffered during the fighting at Zion National Park. Not wanting to risk a lawsuit, the Autobots had paid for his medical bills, and they regularly checked on his family to make sure they were doing all right. For his part, the bishop didn't seem resentful toward the Autobots for what had happened, and while having his body hijacked by Megatron had left scars inside and out, he was well on his way to a full recovery.

While most of the humans who had played host to Decepticon sparks were perfectly content with having nothing further to do with Cybertronians in general, those who had carried Autobot sparks kept in regular contact, and even visited their former "guests" whenever possible. Jon was perhaps the most extreme case, what with moving into Autobot City itself, but others had stopped by and called or e-mailed on a regular basis. The Autobots returned the favor whenever possible, and Salt Lake City was starting to develop a reputation for being popular with Cybertronians.

Ironhide had complained for weeks about being stuck in the head of "an airheaded self-centered female" upon getting his body back, but Ratchet knew that was mostly bluster on his part. He and Chromia paid monthly visits to her family's horse ranch on the outskirts of Provo, and had found an unexpected common interest with the girl – superhero movies. And Ratchet had overheard Ironhide and Chromia discussing a trip to ComicCon as a graduation present for the girl.

Prowl's visits to Tanner were less frequent, given that his duties as SIC kept him busy. But he exchanged e-mails with the boy, and had arranged a visit to his school for Safety Week. Getting to shake hands with an Autobot officer in front of the whole school pretty much made Tanner's year, and gave him bragging points among the rest of the students.

Wheeljack had logged so many trips to Provo to visit Theresa and Jacqueline that Ratchet wondered why he didn't just transfer to the Salt Lake base for good. He'd become a godfather of sorts to little Jackie, and constantly gushed about how much she was growing and how adorable she was to anyone who would listen, much to the Autobots' annoyance. Privately Ratchet thought it was good for him – giving him something to obsess over that wouldn't result in an explosion – and so long as Theresa enjoyed his company as well, no harm done.

Not every story had ended happily, however, and perhaps the worst scenarios had belonged to Howard and Madame Sapphique. The fortune teller had not taken being separated from Shockwave well, and had begged the Autobots not to go through with the extraction. Somehow she had seen bearing a spark as an honor, and even reminding her that continuing to keep Shockwave in her mind would result in her death hadn't dissuaded her – "it would be an honor to sacrifice myself for a spirit," she had argued. And she had been unable – or unwilling – to cope with being alone in her mind, and had sunk into depression.

The last Ratchet had heard regarding the woman, she had been checked into a psychiatric hospital. That saddened him, but at least there she could hopefully get the help she needed.

As for Howard… he had returned to his self-appointed duty of playing guard duck at the game store, showing no ill effects from sharing bodies with a Cybertronian, only to be hit by a car two weeks after the extraction.

When Conrad had called to break the news to Huffer, the purple minibot had reacted in a way no one had ever expected – he had actually broken down in tears. And for weeks afterward he had moped about the base, inconsolable. Given that he had complained so much about being trapped in Howard's body and normally didn't show emotion aside from griping and moaning, it was a shock to everyone.

After a month of lurking in a funk, Huffer had pulled into the parking lot of Angry Duck Games. As the bemused employees and owner had watched he had opened his doors, dropped off over a dozen ducks of various breeds, and driven off without a word. Apparently he had decided that Angry Duck Games just wouldn't be the same without, well, an angry duck. Most of the ducks had wandered off to the nearby park to take up residence, but a pair of Cinnamon Teals – whom Zack had promptly named Wesley and Buttercup – stuck around, building a nest in front of the game store and zealously chasing away any customers who ventured too close.

Perhaps things hadn't gone perfectly, and there were times Ratchet still felt guilty for the deal he had made with Primus. But all things considered, everything had ended better than he had expected it to.

If he had any regrets, it was the fact that the Repository was once again lost to the ages. So much of their kind's history and mythology lay bound up in that room, and it had been effectively sealed away and forgotten. He could only hope that someday, the Firstforged would allow them to find it again… and hopefully wouldn't take it away this time.

"Excuse me?"

Ratchet glanced down to find a middle-aged man looking up at him. "What?"

"I was just asking if you Autobots were planning on attending the concert."

"Nah, we all showed up t' stand around in your parkin' lot," Ironhide replied with a smirk.

The man, to his credit, gave an abashed chuckle. "I guess that was a stupid question, wasn't it? Just letting you know we've reserved a spot for your group. It's toward the back – we didn't want anyone's view to be blocked. I hope that's okay."

"That sounds just fine," Prime told him. "Thank you."

"If you'll come this way?" The man waved them toward the amphitheater. "You're a bit big for the regular entrance, so we'll have to use the service doors. We'll get you seated before we bring in the rest of the attendees."

Ratchet nodded and followed him, the other Autobots close behind.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from Provo, Utah – Dragonglass!"

Conrad wondered if his shaking was visible to the audience. He couldn't even see them, actually – the stage lights reduced the crowd to a vague collection of bodies. Still, knowing that there were so many eyes on him at this exact moment was more than a little freaky. The fact that a group of jokers near the stage was booing them and shouting for them to "bring out Al already" didn't exactly help matters.

He sucked in his breath and shifted his guitar in his hands. It was time to do this… and he'd never felt so unprepared in his life. He felt that if he opened his mouth, nothing would come out, or worse, he'd start babbling instead of singing and never be able to stop.

Angie flashed him a questioning look, wondering why he hadn't signaled for them to start yet. He gave a shrug in reply and squinted out into the audience, as if hoping he could pick out his family – Mom was out there, and Dad and Theresa were supposed to be here to at least see their opening set. And if Ratchet was to be believed, many of the humans who had carried sparks were in attendance too, including Jon. That didn't exactly make things better, in his mind.

Finally Angie rolled her eyes and signaled Zack to start counting out the beat. "One, two, one two three four…"

Zack drew in another deep breath, then began to play. At least it would be Angie singing their first song, a cover of Nightwish's "Amaranth," and not him…

By the intro to their second song – his goofy number about being abducted by aliens, which wasn't too out of place at a Weird Al concert, he figured – his stage fright had largely abated. There was something about the music that transported him, that washed away negative emotions and filled him with a joy he couldn't quite describe. It was as if he were part of the music, his own identity woven into the melody and chords. And somehow, the fact that hundreds of people were watching and listening didn't detract from that.

Once the final chords died away, he looked out into the audience again. Funny… the cheering sounded louder than even this crowd should have managed. And some of the voices sounded odd, like they were coming from a loudspeaker…

A wide grin broke out on his face as he spotted a handful of towering figures at the back of the amphitheater. Ratchet hadn't just gotten them the gig; he'd apparently invited friends to come watch the concert. And they were making a racket of it, bellowing their appreciation and chanting "Dragonglass!" over and over. Even Optimus Prime, who he'd always seen as calm and collected, was joining in, his commanding voice joining in the applause.

Well, it was only appropriate that they had a Cybertronian audience for this next number, he figured. He signaled, and the band began to play – not the metal-flavored chords of their first song or the wacky vibe of the second, but something akin to a ballad.

_In a cold faraway world_

_A battle is raging between evil and good_

_From the stars, they came here to Earth_

_Caught in their struggle for the whole universe_

_Robotic warriors_

_Giving their all_

_Fight in disguise_

' _Til the winner takes all_

_Transformers! Defenders of truth_

_Robots who fight in disguise_

_Transformers! When the battle is through_

_Only the strong will survive_

' _Til all are one…_

* * *

"For our first gig, I don't think we did too bad," Fielding noted as they hauled their gear out of the amphitheater. "Maybe next time we'll even have more than four songs, huh?"

"Dude, they totally loved the Autobot song!" Zack whooped. "We had them all standing and cheering! And hey, Weird Al signed my chest! Who wants to see?"

"I do NOT want to cap the greatest night of my life with a shot of your scribbled-on chest, Zack," Angie said with an eyeroll.

"You'd do it if it was 'Rad's chest," Zack pointed out. "Hey, you think I can get this tattooed in place before it washes off?"

"Don't ask me," Conrad replied. "Somebody find our truck. Ratchet said some guy named Hoist was bringing it by."

"Found it." Angie pointed to the parking lot. Zack's truck was in a lot in the back… and a familiar white van was parked beside it.

Conrad grinned, and he picked up his pace. When they were twenty feet away from the truck the van backed up, shifting and coming apart with a metallic grinding sound. Once he was finished transforming Ratchet crouched down to better address the group.

"Well?" asked Conrad. "How'd we do?"

"Not bad at all," Ratchet replied. "Especially that third song. Nice incorporation of one of our standard phrases. Though for future reference, we prefer not to call ourselves robots, all right?"

"Got it," Conrad replied. "I'll just jot that down and remember it for the next Autobot song I write."

"Cheeky." Ratchet smiled and held a hand out, and Conrad set his guitar case down and reached out to set his own hand in it.

"Thanks," he said. "For doing this for us. It means a lot."

"It's the least I could do. I owe you my life, Conrad, and I'd be fragged if I'm going to let that debt go without fulfilling it. And if I gained nothing else from this whole mess, at least I got to know you, and gained a friend. That's worth something."

Conrad smiled back. "I'm glad I got to know you too. I dunno much about your Primus… but it looks like he knew what he was doing after all."

"He generally does, even if it's not apparent at first glance." He stood. "I have to head on back… you four drive safe, all right?"

"Can do, Ratchet," Fielding replied. "Thanks again!"

Ratchet stepped back and transformed, folding down into his ambulance form again. Conrad waited until he had driven off and vanished before going to load the truck. Friends with a giant alien robot… he'd never imagined that happening, not anymore than he'd imagined Dragonglass performing on an actual stage for a paying audience (even if it wasn't necessarily their band they were paying for). But life was full of surprises… and now that it had actually happened, he wasn't about to complain.

"Until all are one, Ratchet," he murmured. "Take care of yourself."

**Author's Note**

This fanfic has literally been years in the making – I came up with it in late 2009 or so, but sat on the idea for a long time before finally deciding to sit down and write it. It turned out somewhat less epic on paper than it seemed in my head, but then again, stories are fickle creatures and seldom do as they are told.

I put off writing _Trials of the Flesh_ for a couple of reasons. One reason was simply because I had other writing projects I wanted to complete first and _Trials_ simply had to wait its turn, but a major reason is that I came across another fanfic, _Juxtaposition,_ that used the same idea – a human carrying the spark of a "deceased" Cybertronian in their body. Dangit, and here I thought I had an actual original idea.

I seriously considered nixing _Trials_ at this point, because _Juxtaposition_ is a popular fic and I didn't want to be accused of writing a ripoff. But in the end, I decided that my story would take a different enough direction that it was safe to go ahead and write it.

(And of course, shortly after posting the first chapter of _Trials_ I'm told that the opening is markedly similar to ANOTHER fanfic, _Second Chances._ I can't win, can I?)

For those readers that noticed the sudden swerve into _Transformers: Prime_ territory toward the end – yes, that was intentional. I love the idea of the relics and the Firstforged, and seeing as I had no clear ending planned out for this fic to start with, adding them in helped me tie up what would have otherwise been a confusing mess of a fic. And hey, Hasbro likes to recycle its own concepts from time to time, so why can't the fans do some mixing of universes?

All humans in this book are fictional, and any resemblance they bear to any actual people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. Angry Duck Games and Dragonglass, likewise, are a fictional game store and a fictional band respectively. There IS an actual gaming company called Angry Duck Games, I've come to find out, but they specialize in card games. And no, I had no idea Dragonglass was a _Song of Ice and Fire_ term until well into this fic…

Song lyrics in the epilogue are from "Til All Are One" by Stan Bush, and are not mine.

At this point I'm unsure if I'll ever write a sequel to _Trials of the Flesh._ If I do write again in this universe, it will probably be a one-shot focusing on one of the supporting cast, such as Crazy Jon, Madam Sapphique, etc. I have a feeling I'm not done with Conrad and his friends yet, so keep your eyes peeled…

Thank you for reading.


End file.
